


You Do Not Have To Be Good

by SleepySappho



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Actually it's only hurt/comfort if it comes from the hurt/comfort region of France, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst and Porn, Angst with a Happy Ending, BDSM, Biting, Body Writing, Bondage, Breakup, Child Abuse, Consensual Humiliation, Consensual Kink, Crying During Sex, Cunnilingus, Dom/sub, Drunkenness, Erotic Roleplay, Exes, F/F, Flashbacks, Gaslighting, Horde Prime Is Here But He Goes Unnamed, Impact Play, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Lesbian Kink Moms Spinarella and Netossa, Lesbian Sex, Misunderstandings, Mutual Masturbation, No actual sexual assualt occurs, Panic Attack, Parental Abuse, Pegging discourse, Phone Sex, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Praise Kink, Scorpia (She-Ra) is a Good Friend, Seltzer Water Discourse, Shadow Weaver Is A Lying Bitch, Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner (She-Ra)'s A+ Parenting, Smut, Strap-Ons, Subspace, The dragon of compulsory heterosexuality: slayed, Uno played incorrectly, Vomiting, catra is still cat, consensual d/s relationship, consensual sadomasochism, conversion therapy, discussion of domestic abuse, eating disorder adjacent content, otherwise it's just sparkling angst, prisoner/captor roleplay, scorpia is not scorp though, sorry pincers are weird to write about, strap-on fellatio, there is no intimate partner violence depicted in this fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:40:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 44,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25236340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepySappho/pseuds/SleepySappho
Summary: Catra doesn't hang up. She waits, listens to the sound of her ex-girlfriend's breathing becoming more regular, waits so much longer than she should. "Adora?" She asks quietly. When she gets no response from the sleeping girl, she takes a deep breath and whispers "I love you," before finally disconnecting the call.Sometimes if you love someone, you let them go, even when they don't want you to.(Originally posted with the titleSiren)
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 438
Kudos: 852





	1. Siren

**Author's Note:**

> I'm running into a big writer's block on _I Don't Go Down That Easy_ but I felt like you lovely people deserve some smut anyway so here you go, have Adora making a string of increasingly poor descisions

Adora's drunk. Which is fine, actually. She's an adult, she's allowed to be drunk. She _wants_ to be drunk, even. Makes it harder to think about things. Things with pretty brown hair and freckles and a sweet, squeaky laugh that always makes her smile. 

Used to. Used to make her smile.

_Fuck._

"Why do I feel so… blaaaah?" She asks, sticking her tongue out to demonstrate her current emotional state. "I thought alcla… alchlon… drinking was supposed to make you feel _good._ " 

Bow and Glimmer exchange a look (there they go again, always _looking_ at each other. Adora can _look_ at people too. If she wants to. Which she doesn't). Bow reaches across the table to hold Adora's hand gently. "Alcohol can help lower your inhibitions, but it's also a depressant. If you're already feeling bad you should probably stop—" 

Adora grimaces. This is _not_ how she wanted to spend her Saturday night. Glimmer and Bow brought her out here to have a good time. Why is she not having a good time right now?

She downs the rest of her drink in one go and it burns her mouth and throat. She doesn't mind that part at least. Sometimes stuff that hurts can feel kinda nice. 

She knows all about wanting things that hurt her.

"Adora!" Glimmer squeaks, snatching the empty glass out of her hand. 

"What?" Adora asks, blinking. "Wasn't gonna just waste it…"

Bow sighs, standing. "I'm gonna get you some water and then I think we should call it a night." He turns to Glimmer before he goes. "Keep an eye on her?" 

Adora slumps down onto the bar table, resting her chin on the varnished wood. "M' sorry, Glimmer… you and Bow just wanted to have a good time and I messed it all up."

"Adora… you don't have to be sorry, okay? We thought this would help you with your whole… situation, but if it's just making you feel worse than we'd rather be at home with you, anyway." Glimmer tries out an encouraging smile. It's not very good. "We're not gonna let you go through this alone, okay?" 

Except, she is alone. That's the whole problem. When she leaves the bar tonight she's gonna be going home to Bow and Glimmer's spare room and a half-unpacked suitcase instead of her nice warm bed full of her nice warm girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend. Fuck. 

"I just… I don't get it… everything was so _good._ She was so _good,_ Glimmer. I'd never seen her so happy and I, I thought… that I was the one doing that. Making her happy." Adora doesn't realize she's crying until she tries to breathe in and finds herself sniffling. "I just wanted to make her happy, Glimmer. I, I took, hold on, let me find it—" Adora rummages around in her purse for a moment pulling out the ring she stole from Catra's jewelry box. Glimmer inhales sharply. 

"I wanted to know what size to get her… I was gonna ask her right after we graduated and, and, we were gonna move into the city and get a house with a big yard and a tree and we were gonna have a kid and we were gonna be moms together and it was gonna be perfect and—" A sob interrupts her and she has to stop, her whole body shaking with the force of her tears. 

Glimmer quickly slides into the seat next to her, putting an arm around her. "It's gonna be okay, Adora. You've got us, and all your other friends too. We're all gonna help you get through this."

"I don't wanna get through this," Adora mutters. "I just wanna go back."

Glimmer runs her hand in small circles on Adora's back. "I know, sweetie. I know."

* * *

Adora wants to fall into bed the moment she gets back to Bow and Glimmer's apartment, but her stupid friends insist she drink a bunch of water first. After making her way through the forced hydration gauntlet she stumbles into their guest room, kicking off her shoes and falling face down onto the futon. She's exhausted but can't make herself sleep, not with all the thoughts spinning around in her head.

She thinks about how Catra used to help her out on nights like these, how she was so good at emptying Adora's mind with her fingers and tongue. _God,_ Adora misses that tongue, the way its rough texture would scrape across her skin. She's never going to feel that sensation again, she realizes. She's never met a cat person other than Catra and even if she did she knows it wouldn't be the same. 

Nothing would ever be the same.

Still, maybe she can try helping herself out. Her own fingers are thick and clumsy by comparison but there's no harm in trying. She slips her hand under the waistband of her underwear and starts rubbing, gently. She thinks about the way Catra would tease her with a featherlight touch, building her up so slowly over the course of _hours_ until she was begging for it. It was absolute torture but it always made that final release so much sweeter, knowing how hard she worked for it. Knowing she _earned_ it. 

That sparks off a whole new series of thoughts and a rush of wetness under her fingers. She loved the way Catra used to take control of her, command and praise her. She used to live for the sound of her lover's voice so low and rasping against her ear, calling her a _good girl,_ telling her she was doing a good job.

Adora needs that right now. More than anything. These past few weeks she's felt so _lost,_ stumbling half-awake through her classes, avoiding her friends as much as possible, unable to find joy in any of her old hobbies or interests. She knows she's spiraling, letting her life slip between her fingers, neglecting and driving away her friends. She's _trying_ but she's so confused and she just needs the one woman she trusts— _trusted_ more than anything to tell her that she's _good,_ that she's doing the right thing and that Catra is proud of her. 

It's absolutely pathetic, it's unhealthy, and Adora is so fucking upset that she deleted the voice memo Catra sent her last time they were apart during the winter break. She needs that voice right now.

She knows how she can get it.

Adora doesn't give herself a chance to think about it because she knows if she does she'll find a reason not to and she _wants,_ wants so very badly to do this. She's already dialing Catra before her brain has decided to go through with it.

_It's the middle of the night. She's not going to answer._

Except she does. There's a click and then a sleepy "Hello?" and _oh,_ that sound makes Adora's heart soar, and she knows she can't back down from this, not now, she's in too deep and she needs to see this through no matter what.

"Catra. It's me."

There's a lot pause and for a brief, horrible moment Adora thinks she's hung up. But then:

"Hey, Adora."

And _fuck_ if that isn't half of what she needs already. Just hearing her name in that delicious voice is so much better than anything she could have imagined, anything she or anyone else could ever do for her. 

"I, uh. I've been thought— shit, uh, I've been _thinking_ about you." Adora stammers, struggling to focus on the words between the haze of alcohol and the growing pleasure between her legs.

"Jesus, Adora, are you drunk?" The disappointment, almost _disgust_ in that question makes Adora want to cry and touch herself harder at the same time. She gives in to the latter.

"I, umm. I had a few. I was trying to stop thinking about you but it, it didn't really work." She has no focus right now, no control, nothing to keep the truth from spilling out.

"Well tough shit, princess. In case you're too plastered to remember, we're not together anymore, so you can think about me on your own time. _Goodnight,_ Adora." 

No. No wait. This can't be right. Catra's going to hang up. She can't hang up. Adora isn't anywhere close to finished and she, she _needs_ this.

"Wait!" She cries out, desperation clawing at her throat. "Don't go. _Please._ Please I just, I need you to keep talking. You can say anything you want to me I just, _ah,_ just talk."

There's a pause again, and Adora is really truly afraid that it's all over now, before Catra speaks, quietly.

"Are you touching yourself right now?"

She doesn't sound upset. She sounds… curious, maybe. Definitely interested. Maybe a little aroused. _Perfect._

"Yes." 

Adora can hear Catra suck in a breath on the other side of the phone, then a muttered " _Fuck,_ " before Catra responds.

"I— we really can't be doing this, Adora. This isn't healthy."

Like Adora doesn't _know_ that. Like she doesn't know that masturbating on the phone with your ex-girlfriend is a terrible idea. She knows, she just doesn't _care._

"You don't have to say anything, uh. About it. Just talk to me. I just need to hear your voice. _Please._ " She knows her voice sounds so desperate right now. She knows Catra _likes_ that.

"You are so fucked up, you know that? God, everybody acts like I'm the Big Bad Punk Girl who corrupted you but you are such a little _freak,_ aren't you?" Catra's breath is coming harder now, as she speaks. Adora hopes she's touching herself, too.

" _Yes,_ " she replies. "I'm such a, such a fucking slut for your voice. I can't help it, Catra, you make me so fucking _wet_ and I can't stop myself, I don't want to stop myself, I don't care that you hurt me I just _need_ it." 

"You really do, don't you?" Catra's voice is growing darker in that intense, wonderful way that means she's craving Adora's submission. This is going so much better than she could have ever hoped. "I wonder what you would do for me, right now, if I asked."

" _Anything,_ " Adora whimpers. "Anything you want Catra I need you to tell me what to do I need you to control me I need to be a good girl for you I need it _please._ " She's becoming less and less coherent, she's getting closer to falling apart completely, she just needs a little bit _more_ to get her there.

"Two fingers inside, _now,_ " Catra's voice comes across the line saturated with desire. Adora does as she's told, fingers slipping in easily, filling her up the way she needs Catra to be filling her right now. "I want you to fuck yourself on your fingers for me. I want you to think about me touching you while you do it. I want you to say my name when you come."

" _Yes!_ " Adora practically screams, curling her fingers against her front wall and almost losing control right then. "I wanna come I wanna be good—"

" _—For_ _me_ —" 

"Yes yes _yes_ for you, always for you only for you I'm _yours_ Catra I'm your girl I'm always gonna be your girl _please_ let me come Catra I wanna come for you again _please—"_

"Do it. Do it _now,_ I wanna hear you come for me."

"Oh _god,_ Catra, Catra, _Catra!"_ Adora howls as she follows her instructions. Her muscles spasm and she drops her phone, back arching off the futon and her cries dissolving into sharp, quiet whimpers as the pleasure rockets through her, fracturing her mind into tiny, babbling pieces. 

She doesn't know how long it is before she comes down enough to realize her phone is on the floor, but she quickly scrambles for it and is relieved to see the call hasn't dropped.

"Catra?" She whispers breathlessly, worried that the spell might be broken somehow.

She hears Catra give a long, shuddering breath on the other end of the line. She recognizes the sound immediately.

"Hey, Adora." 

Adora closes her eyes, curls up on herself and holds a pillow to her chest. She wishes Catra were here right now.

"Was it— did I—" somehow, after all of that, Adora is still afraid to ask the question, ask for the one thing she's been craving.

Catra chuckles. "You did. You did such a good job, baby, you did everything I asked. You're such a good girl for me." 

Adora whimpers, soft and satisfied, the warm frisson of the praise crawling over her skin. She can feel sleep stealing over her.

"Thank you, mistress." It slips out, thoughtlessly.

"You're welcome, kitten," Catra responds, impossibly gently. "Now go to sleep. Try not to remember this in the morning."

"Mmm… no promises…" Adora mutters as her eyes flutter closed.

Catra doesn't hang up. She waits, listens to the sound of her ex-girlfriend's breathing becoming more regular, waits so much longer than she should. "Adora?" She asks quietly. When she gets no response from the sleeping girl, she takes a deep breath and whispers "I love you," before finally disconnecting the call.


	2. Heart At Her Throat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all want more of this kinky gay suffering? Well, be my guest then.

"I gotta say Wildcat, it is _good_ to be hanging out again. I feel like we haven't seen each other in months!" Scorpia pulls Catra into one of her signature crushing hugs and Catra knows by now the best way out is to just go limp and wait for it to be over. "I know I've been so busy with Perfuma, and you've been so busy with... Uh, well, you've been busy, is the point, but I really missed spending time together, ya know? Super Pal Duo, reunited at last!" 

"Yeah. Whatever," Catra grumbles when she's finally released. She doesn't hate Scorpia, has even come to find her aggressive positivity endearing at times, but that attitude could not be worse suited for the task at hand. "Let's just... Get this over with." 

"Right! Uh, this being what exactly?" Scorpia asks. "I may have stopped reading your text after the part where you asked me to come over."

Catra can really not deal with this right now. "I need to box up all of the stuff Adora left so I can give it back to her." 

Scorpia sucks a breath in through her teeth. "Oof that is, that's rough. Well don't worry buddy, I've got your back, whatever you need you can just ask your best friend Scorpia and I'll make sure—"

" _Scorpia,_ " Catra snaps, before pinching the bridge of her nose and calming herself. "Thank you. Just, I'm not really in the mood to talk right now, okay?" 

"Message received and understood, captain!" Scorpia salutes, earning another glare from Catra. "Right, shutting up now. Quiet as a church mouse, that's me." 

As annoyingly… Scorpia as Scorpia could be, Catra can't deny that having her here helps. Just knowing her friend is here to help her get through this keeps her from falling back into a mire of despair and self-pity whenever she finds another one or Adora's belongings, if only to save herself the embarrassment. 

They work their way through the living room in relative silence, Scorpia keeping to her word and only piping up to ask if a particular item is staying or going into one of the cardboard boxes marked "ADORA".

It's rarely an easy question. 

Their lives had been so entangled for so long that trying to pick them apart was nearly impossible. Who gets to keep the furniture they bought together? What about the "Don't Talk To Me Until I've Had My Girlfriend" mug Catra bought Adora as a joke but that Adora had drunk coffee out of every morning afterwards? Fuck, there's still mostly-full containers of Adora's stupid fucking protein powder in the cupboards. Who bought those? Does it even matter? 

They wind their way through the apartment, Scorpia helping with heavy lifting and an occasional comforting touch on Catra's shoulder. Despite everything, Scorpia really does understand what she needs when it matters. She's a good friend.

Catra should probably tell her that at some point.

Eventually, they stop at the door to the bedroom. Catra's bedroom. The one she shared with Adora. "I, uh," Catra begins, her voice sounding shatteringly loud after the hours of silence. "I think I need to do this part on my own." 

Scorpia nods. "If you need anything, I'll be moving the boxes out to my car." She gives Catra another hug, not lifting her off the ground or squeezing her this time, just gently wrapping her arms around her friend and giving her the option to do the same.

Catra hesitates for a moment before hugging back. Scorpia _does_ give great hugs. She pulls away before she can start crying into her friend's shoulder, gives her an awkward, appreciative nod, and enters the room.

Most of Adora's stuff is already gone. She'd grabbed the important things on her way out, emptied out her dresser (thank God they'd never decided to share clothing storage) and rummaged through the bedside table. Catra knows there's plenty left, though. Like removing a tumor, it's nearly impossible to make a clean cut. Some of the malignant tissue will always be left behind.

Taking a breath to steady herself, Catra works around the room clockwise. She pulls out books from the shelf, digs up old shoe boxes full of god-knows-what from the closet, picks over the smoldering ruins of their life together for Adora-shaped debris, any remaining physical evidence that a beautiful, kind woman with long blonde hair and a musical laugh had ever lived her.

It's almost meditative and she lets herself detach from the experience, watching herself sort through their combined possessions as if she's floating miles above her own body. It's better this way. This way she can barely feel the way each memory tears a new hole in her. 

She's operating on autopilot now, to such a degree that she doesn't even realize what drawer she just opened until the contents are already staring back at her. The clench in her gut is enough to draw her back down into the room alongside her body, trying to fight down the memories bubbling up in the back of her mind at the sight.

None of this was Adora's, really her (ex) girlfriend had been so horribly repressed that she hadn't even brought a single vibrator with her when she moved in. Everything in this drawer had been bought by Catra, there's no reason to think she needed to give any of it away. 

Except.

With a few exceptions, Catra had bought all of this _because_ of Adora. She certainly hadn't planned to use that coil of hemp rope or that flogger on _herself,_ and the thought of using them on anyone other than Adora makes her feel sick. But if she gives them to Adora, won't she just end up using them with someone else, too? 

That's not the worst of it. Catra knows exactly what's buried at the bottom of that drawer, and she's not ready for it. She's never going to be ready for it, though, and now is as good a time as any to drive a knife into her own heart.

She finds it by the feel, the leather rubbing against her skin, the cold metal buckles telling her that she's found what she's looking for. She forces herself not to close her eyes, not to look away as she reaches into the drawer and pulls out Adora's collar.

* * *

  
Adora's on her knees in front of her, hands on her thighs and palms facing down just like Catra told her to do. Catra is never getting over how beautiful she looks like this, kneeling at Catra's feet and looking up with that sweet, shy smile and eyes already fogging over with relaxation and an overwhelming desire to please. Catra wants nothing more than to reach down and cup her girlfriend's face gently, run a thumb over her flushed cheeks. So she does.

Adora's eyes flutter closed at the contact and she sighs, leaning in to Catra's hand, practically nuzzling it, before pressing a soft kiss to the inside of her wrist. 

" _Good_ girl," Catra whispers, reveling in the way her words, just her _words,_ make Adora whimper like she's being fucked. She loves having this effect on her girlfriend, loves having the ability to make her feel _so good,_ so easily. Giving Adora pleasure, both physically and with the structure and praise and obedience they both know she craves, is one of Catra's true joys in life. 

Adora is perfect, so absolutely _perfect_ and Catra used to be so scared that she would never be good enough for her. Could never provide her with all the things she needs. Now, though, she knows better. Knows nobody else can give her wonderful girlfriend this feeling she needs, knows nobody else would have looked at the straight-A student, star athlete, golden girl Adora and seen through to the horrible gnawing insecurity underneath, nobody else would have known that what she needs more than _anything_ is someone else to take that weight off her shoulders, take away every responsibility and tell her that she's doing a good job, that she's been working so hard and it hasn't gone unnoticed and she's going to get a reward.

Not that Catra doesn't get plenty out of it herself, but she can keep a handle on the guilt over her more _intense_ desires by telling herself that this is all for Adora, only for Adora, that all she's doing is giving Adora what she wants, just like any good girlfriend would. If the sight of the woman she's spent her whole life being _second-best_ to being reduced to a whining, pathetic mess underneath her thrills her in ways she suspects she shouldn't be indulging? Well, that's just a sadly unavoidable consequence. 

None of that matters right now. What matters is that Adora is at her feet, losing herself in the sensation of her touch, and she's been _so good_ lately. This last semester has been difficult for her girlfriend, one of her more complex classes demanding a massive research project and the school's soccer team underperforming compared to previous seasons. More than once Catra had come home to find her girlfriend crying, overwhelmed by the stress. She had done her best to help, comforting her when necessary, picking up the slack in household chores and assigning herself the Herculean task of making sure Adora actually slept, drank water, and ate enough to keep her alive.

And at the end of it, Adora had pushed through. She'd finished her project to round off another semester of perfect grades, she'd rallied her soccer team to a string of crushing victories and, most importantly of all, she'd let herself be talked into a significantly reduced workload for her next semester. Catra is so proud of her.

She intends to show her just how much.

"You've been so good for me lately, kitten." She pays close attention to the lazy way Adora smiles at the term. What had once started as an ironic joke between them had become one of their favorite terms of endearment, a pet name that never fails to make Adora feel soft and small and pretty like she sometimes needs. "So very, very good. So good, in fact, that I decided you deserved something special." 

_That_ gets her girlfriend's attention, all right. It's adorable the way selfless, self-sacrificing Adora can get downright _greedy_ for the little rewards Catra doles out for her obedience. Adora opens her bright blue eyes, stares up at her girlfriend eagerly. "What is it, mistress?" She asks in that sweet, soft voice that only her girlfriend gets to hear. 

Catra smiles. Clearly her pet is in the right mindset for this gift already. She reaches one hand under the pillow where she stored the present earlier, keeping the other gently stroking Adora's face. She breathes in, counts to three, and then produces the collar.

It's made of clean, white leather, shining buckles plated with gold. It's simple, small but sturdy enough to be pulled on if necessary. At the front, where it would rest exactly at the center of Adora's neck, there's a strange, heart shaped symbol, an arrangement of straight lines and geometric shapes, inlaid in gold. It's one of Adora's designs, one she first doodled on Catra's skin in glittering gold marker when they were children. She had said it meant "heart". Years later, it became Catra's first tattoo.

Adora gasps when she sees the collar, her eyes lighting up immediately. "Is… is that for me?" She asks, eyes fixed on the gold ornamentation. 

"Of course it is, dummy," Catra replies, voice thick with affection. "Who else would it be for?"

Adora's smiling, smiling so bright and beautiful that Catra thinks it might kill her. " _Thank you,_ Catra," she says.

Okay. This next part is scary, but Catra's ready. She's been preparing for this for weeks. "Before you accept this, Adora, I want to make sure you understand what it means." Adora looks at her, curious, but waits for her to continue. "If you decide you want to accept this collar, _my_ collar, then to me that means… you're mine. That you want to belong to me, and nobody else. That this, what we have together, it's special to you, and it's not going away. I just, I can't bear to think of you wearing it without it meaning that to you too."

Adora hums softly, eyes flicking up from the collar to meet Catra's. "Yours, huh?"

Catra struggles to speak, her throat choked with emotion. "Yeah."

Adora smiles and presses another kiss to Catra's wrist. "After all this time, what else would I be?" She reaches a hand up to cover Catra's against her cheek, stroking the back of her girlfriend's hand. "I want to wear your collar, mistress. I want to know that you own me. I want to be yours. Always."

Catra can't hold back the tears now, can't stop the wide, blissful smile on her face. "That's my girl. Now, hold your hair up for me." 

Adora does as she's told, gathering her hair up into a loose ponytail like the one she usually wears outside the apartment. Catra reaches down, slowly, and fastens the collar around Adora's neck, taking her time to stroke her fingers over her pet's warm, soft skin as she does. There's a soft _click_ as she buckles it into place, and Catra thinks it's the most beautiful sound in the world.

"There we go," she whispers, hooking a finger under the collar and pulling Adora up to eye level with her. "All mine."

Adora grins, wild and bursting with elation. "All yours, baby. Forever." Catra can't hold herself back any longer and she pulls Adora into a rough kiss that only gets gentler, slower and sweeter as they simply enjoy the feel of each other's mouths.

"Adora, I love you," Catra gasps when they break for air. "More than anything."

It's Adora's turn to fight back tears now, burying her face in Catra's shoulder. "I know," she whispers, "I love you too." 

* * *

  
Catra turns the collar over in her hands. It's hers, technically, she paid an absurd amount of money for it. She could keep it. Not to use with anyone else, not with Adora and her symbol on it, but just to keep. It was a gift she gave to Adora, and one she can choose to take back. Adora isn't _her's_ anymore. She shouldn't have _her_ collar.

Catra slumps down onto the bed and tosses the collar into the box with the rest of Adora's things. Quietly, she begins to cry.


	3. Given Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If God didn't want me to use this many horizontal lines in one chapter than She wouldn't have made it an option in ao3's Rich Text Editor, goddammit

Adora's home. She's not sure why she's thinking that, actually, since she doesn't know where else she would be, but the overwhelming sense of comfort and safety at being home, in her own bed, buzzes under her skin. Everything is absolutely perfect, morning light spilling in through the window so she can bask in the sunlight without having to move an inch. She can feel the pleasant ache that means she and Catra had a _very_ good time last night, and she smiles to herself. She reaches up with one hand to feel Catra's collar at her throat and—

"Relax, kitten," Catra says, sitting down on the bed next to her. "It's right here. I didn't want your hair getting caught while you were sleeping. Here, hold your hair up for me." 

Adora relaxes as her girlfriend fastens the collar back around her neck. She doesn't like to admit it but sometimes she starts to get anxious without it. It's a tangible reminder of the fact that she is _owned,_ that she is _wanted,_ that she is _loved._ She's thinking about asking Catra for a more subtle version, something she can wear in public to help anchor her when she gets anxious again. 

She's sure it isn't normal, to want any of this to begin with, but it must be worse to want it this _badly_ , to need reminders of her submission all the time. Even if it is really just a reminder of her girlfriend and the love they share, it would probably be healthier if she could learn to need Catra less somehow, to get through the day without constantly craving her touch, her voice, and her reassuring words.

But Catra doesn't mind. Catra wants her just as badly, is always thinking about her. Maybe it's okay to build your foundations on another person, if you know for sure they'll always be there. Maybe it's okay to need support, to need help, if it's from someone who needs you back, who will always be there for you, who you know will never leave you. 

Something about that thought is prodding at her, threatening to overwhelm her with fear and dread, but Catra's hand is in her hair, claws out just enough to scratch her scalp the way she likes it, distracting her. Adora makes a sound somewhere between a groan and a hum, pressing her head back against the delightful pressure of her girlfriend's caress.

"Listen to you purr. Now who's the cat here?" Catra jokes, giving her an especially hard scratch just at the base of her skull. 

"Mmmmm... I am. I'm your kitten." Adora murmurs, curling up a little and letting the warmth wash over her. That should make her laugh, but it doesn't. As absurd as it is, being Catra's _kitten_ just feels _good,_ impossibly so. It makes her feel small, and safe, and adored. She's not the big strong captain of the soccer team or a serious contender for valedictorian or the girl who always has a smile and a kind word for anyone on campus who wants one; she doesn't need to be any of that. She doesn't need to do anything except let the woman she loves take care of her. 

" _Good girl,_ " that woman whispers, trailing a single finger up Adora's thigh. "I think you deserve something nice, don't you?" 

Adora tries to nod but finds Catra's fist tight in her hair, holding her head still. Her girlfriend chuckles above her, low and slightly condescending. "Use your words, baby." 

"I— I," Adora's already forgotten what she's supposed to be responding to. The sharp, delicious sensation of Catra pulling on her hair mixed with the gentle, teasing touch of fingers gliding up her thighs is driving everything but _yes_ out of her head. She figures it's probably the right answer anyway. " _Yes!"_

Catra's fingers are sliding under her loose sleep shorts now, gently teasing around her clit without quite touching it. "I bet you'd _really_ like me to touch you right now, wouldn't you, baby? You'd like me to fuck you _hard_ and make you feel _so good,_ isn't that right, Adora? Is that what my girl needs?"

Adora can barely manage to speak through the whimpers rising up in her throat, but manages another choked "Yes! _Please,_ " grinding her hips forward to try and get just a little more contact.

Then suddenly, it's all gone. Catra's hands are gone _._ Her fingers fly up to her throat and Catra's collar is _gone._ Fear shoots through her as the thought that was prodding at her before hammers hard against her mind, trying to break down her barriers and force its way in.

"Catra?" She asks, shakily, looking around for her girlfriend as the room darkens, changes shape.

"I'm disappointed in you, Adora. I really thought you might be good enough for me," Catra's voice echos cruelly around the walls of the shrinking room, tinged with an edge of disgust, of _hatred_ that Adora has never heard before. "Oh well," the voice says with mocking resignation. "Guess I was wrong. _Goodbye,_ Adora." 

"No. No no Catra come back, please, I _need you,_ please Catra—" the walls close in on her, pressing against her body, squeezing the air out of her lungs, crushing her, grinding her down into nothing like she deserves—

* * *

  
Adora bolts awake on the futon, her heart pounding in panic, uncomfortably aware of the wetness between her legs. She groans into her hands as her mind begins to sort out the difference between dream and reality. She wishes her brain could stick to either bittersweet sex dreams _or_ nightmares about being rejected instead of combining the two. She had kinda hoped the alcohol would keep her from dreaming last night, but it apparently it just made her—

_Shit._

Adora groans again, louder this time, as the memory of exactly _what_ she did last night rushes back. 

She is never drinking again.

Speaking of which, it seems like something in her skull has decided to start hammering on the back of her eyeballs. She needs water and a fistful of whatever painkillers Bow and Glimmer have lying around before she can deal with the emotional consequences of last night. 

Adora stumbles out into the kitchen, wincing at the bright light, and sees Bow and Glimmer huddled in quiet conversation with—

_Scorpia?_

All three of them turn to look at her. There's a long moment of silence that practically guarantees that they were talking about _her_ just now. Finally, Bow goes to speak but Adora interrupts him.

"I need a glass of water and some kind of drugs for this headache before I can even _think_ about dealing with whatever," she gestures vaguely at the three, " _this_ is." 

Glimmer brings her a glass of water and a couple pills that she assumes are ibuprofen but _hopes_ are something a lot stronger and she swallows both before sitting down heavily on the nearest kitchen stool.

"So," she starts, "I'm guessing that Scorpia is here for a reason? Probably a Catra-related reason, since everyone is looking at me like I'm a baby panda with cancer or something." 

Scorpia winces, and tries to put on a friendly smile. "Catra, uh, she wanted me to bring some of your stuff over. There's a couple boxes in my van and everything else went in a storage unit." She drops a key with an address and unit number onto the counter. "I can go get the boxes for you." 

Adora picks up the key, watching the sunlight reflect off it as she turns it in her hands. Her whole life with Catra, all of it, picked out the way Catra used to pick cilantro out of her rice and carted off to some anonymous metal container in the city. 

Didn't even take her a month.

"It's paid out for six months so, uh, yeah. Don't worry about that." Scorpia adds.

Adora doesn't respond. She feels empty, completely devoid of the anger and sadness she should be feeling right now, just. Hollow. If she thought for even a second that last night meant maybe Catra was changing her mind, this disproves it. 

Catra couldn't _wait_ to get rid of her. 

Taking silence for an answer, Scorpia edges towards the door to go and grab the boxes, but Adora's voice grabs her before she can make her escape.

"Did she… did she say _why?_ " She asks, keeping her voice as even as possible.

"Uh," Scorpia says, awkwardly scratching the back of her neck and looking for all the world like she wants to run as far away from this conversation as possible. "She didn't really wanna talk about it." 

Of course she didn't. After all, if she couldn't tell _her own girlfriend_ why they had to break up, it's not like she was going to tell Scorpia. Adora laughs bitterly and almost keeps it from turning into a sob. "That is _so_ like her." 

She doesn't say anything else and Scorpia finally manages to dart out the door and escape further interrogation. 

"I'm gonna go help Scorpia with the boxes," Glimmer says before vanishing out the door, leaving Adora and Bow alone in the kitchen. Adora continues fiddling with the key, focusing on the shape of it, the different notches, trying to work out in her head what the lock might look like, anything other than what would be behind it. 

Bow leans against the kitchen counter. "It's gonna be okay, Adora. We'll drive out and take a look in a few days, we've got plenty of space here so I'm sure we can fit everything you want to keep. We can get a proper bed in your room, too, instead of the futon. Glimmer and I would love to have you here, honestly, you don't need to worry about looking for a new place. It'll be just like freshman year again, the Best Friends Squad House, ya know?" Bow looks worried at Adora's lack of response, but then again when _doesn't_ he look worried around Adora these days? Just another way she's fucking up everyone's lives, dragging them all down with her.

_Is that what I was doing to Catra? Did she see me getting worse and realize I was never going to stop worrying her? I thought I was getting better, but maybe she saw something I didn't, could tell I was going to spiral again and take her down with me. Was she just trying to protect herself from me?_

Bow sits down on the stool next to her, gently takes her hand and waits for her to turn and look at him. "Adora, I know you're hurting right now. I can't fix that for you, but I _promise_ we're gonna be here for you no matter what. I know you're probably thinking that you're a burden or something but you're _not._ We're your friends Adora, and we love you. There's nothing you can do that would make us stop—"

"I had phone sex with Catra last night." Adora interrupts. 

Bow blinks slowly. "Uh. Okay, well, that came out of nowhere but— I'm sorry _what?_ _Why?_ " 

Adora shrugs. "I called her. I think I sort of… pushed her into it. I think she felt sorry for me." She lets her head fall forward, resting it face down on the table. "I'm horrible. No wonder she broke up with me."

"Uh uh, we are _not_ going there right now." Bow slings an arm around her shoulder and pulls her in for a sideways hug. "Catra's an adult, she can look after herself. You need to worry about taking care of _you,_ right now. I, I don't think what you did last night was a _good_ idea, necessarily, but it doesn't make you a bad person. We all have tough nights sometimes."

"I miss her _so much_ , Bow," Adora says, "I just… I can't stop thinking about her. I don't _want_ to stop thinking about her, because that's _worse,_ but thinking about her hurts and I just want to know what I did wrong, I just wish she had _told_ me whatever it was so I could have fixed it, I would have done _anything_ for her, God I _still_ would." Her voice quiets to a whisper. "I don't know who I am without her, Bow. Even before we were together we were always _together,_ you know? It was always Catra and Adora, Adora and Catra. We're not supposed to be seperated. It isn't _right._ We, we belong together. I belong to— I belong with _her._ " Finally she breaks through the shell of emptiness inside her, plunges through into the well of misery she knew was there all along. She's crying again, dammit, her body racked with great, heaving sobs that make her feel like she's about to vomit. She doesn't hear Scorpia and Glimmer come back inside.

* * *

  
The boxes are nearly stacked by the wall in the guest room and Adora is trying to look anywhere other than at them. She's only just stopped crying, her eyes still red and her throat still sore from the sobs. She can't deal with them right now.

But she can't stop herself either. As painful as she knows it's going to be to unpack them, it's also the last bit of _something_ that connects her to Catra. Objects that she touched, that she looked over, reviewing the same memories as Adora as she sorted through them. Almost like reaching out to touch her again through a glass wall. 

The first box is easy. Books and DVDs ("Honestly Adora, just let me rip them to a hard drive already, they take up so much space. Do you really need two different editions of _The Lego Movie?_ " "Uh, _yes_ , because the commentary tracks are different. Besides, I just… like having a _thing._ It's more tangible than a file. Feels more real." "I will never understand how your brain works, you big beautiful idiot."), simple enough to sort through. She puts them back because she doesn't actually have any kind of shelf to put them on yet. Isn't even sure if she's gonna take Bow and Glimmer up on the offer to keep staying here long term. 

It's when she opens the second box that she can feel her heart cracking like glass cooled down too quickly. Nestled on top of a few pieces of clothing she forgot to grab and some toiletries is Catra's collar, the one she gave Adora last year after the Spring semester. She picks it up with trembling hands, fresh tears blurring her vision. 

_Why would she get rid of it?_ Adora doesn't want it, not without Catra, couldn't imagine wearing it now that everything it represents is broken. She didn't want Catra using it on anyone else, either, but… she thought that she might _keep_ it, at least. As a souvenir, as a memory. A reminder that Adora used to _matter_ to her.

Given how easily Catra could toss out the single most important symbol of their relationship… maybe she never did. 

Adora drops the collar back into the box and closes it. She's done unpacking for the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, turns out Adora is just as confused as all of you are about why they broke up. Don't worry, answers are coming eventually.
> 
> Sorry about that bait-and-switch dream sequence by the way. In my defense, I am a monster who lives to cause you suffering


	4. Monster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so heads up, Catra has some Thoughts and Feelings in this chapter about the moral implications of sadism that I definitely am not endorsing, I think it's obvious from the rest of the fic but I wanna be absolutely clear that I'm very much in the pro-consensual kink camp.
> 
> I want to make it equally clear that I fully endorse Scorpia's position on seltzer here and if you disagree you can leave me an angry comment and I will delete it

Catra's drunk. And fuck, why shouldn't she be? After the day she's had, the _weeks_ she's had, she has every fucking right to be. 

As soon as Scorpia drove off to drop off Adora's things and the key to the storage unit, Catra had immediately raided the fridge for any remaining alcohol. By the time Scorpia gets back Catra is lying on the floor and drinking wine from the bottle. 

It isn't her first. Not by a long shot.

"Wildcat?" Scorpia calls out, and Catra raises an arm lazily so Scorpia can see over it over the couch.

"Down here."

Scorpia takes off her shoes (as if _that_ matters right now) and circles around the couch, tripping over one of Catra's empty bottles. "Ah jeez, did you drink all of these?" Catra grimaces.

"What do you think, dumbass? I'm the only person who lives here now." 

"Touché," Scorpia says, raising an eyebrow. "Well I'm not letting you drink alone, Wildcat." She makes her way over to the fridge before pulling out a six pack of seltzer water and carrying it back to the couch. 

Catra snorts derisively. "I thought you said you were drinking."

Scorpia pulls open the tab on a can of seltzer. "I am! Just, nothing alcoholic. I think you've got that covered for both of us." She takes a long sip. " _Ah_ , that's the stuff. Refreshing!"

"It's literally just water." 

"Not true!" Scorpia counters. "This one tastes like, uh," she surreptitiously checks the label, "mango! Plus, there's bubbles. Never underestimate the importance of bubbles!" 

Catra laughs. She's surprised she still knows how to, without making it bitter or mocking. "Scorp? You know I love you, right?" Catra's brain catches up to her mouth a moment later and she hurries to add "Not like _that,_ I mean, as a friend. You're important to me, as my friend. Don't worry I know you're with Perfuma and I don't mean—"

"I know." Scorpia interrupts. "I love you too, Wildcat." She smiles softly. "It's good to hear you say it though." 

"I don't. Say it enough, I mean." Catra doesn't know where all this is coming for all of a sudden she just knows she feels so cold, so _alone_ and she needs to reach out for the only person left that she knows is in her corner, needs to make sure there's at least one thing she doesn't fuck up. "You've always been such a good friend to me and I don't always appreciate that and… I just need you to know that I do. And it matters to me that you care." 

Scorpia's sniffling now, and Catra should be annoyed but right now she's just glad, glad that her feelings still have an impact on anyone left in her life now. 

"Wildcat I know you have a whole thing about personal space but it is very important to me that I hug you right now, is that okay?" Catra rolls her eyes and nods and before she knows it Scorpia has scooped her up off the floor and bundled her into a bear hug. It's. Well, it's nice. Catra's never been a touching person, except with Adora, and that's out of the question now, but maybe it's okay to get some of that from her friends instead. Not _all_ of it, of course, there are a lot of things she did with Adora that she cannot ever imagine Scorpia being involved in and frankly doesn't want to, but. Hugging is a good place to start. 

Scorpia eventually sets her down on the couch next to her and hands her a seltzer. Catra accepts that with her self-appointed guardian angel here she's probably done with alcohol for the night, so she cracks it open and takes a sip. It tastes like...

"Literally nothing, Scorp. If you put a fucking gun to my head I could not tell you what flavor this is supposed to be." 

Scorpia laughs. "Don't worry about what it's supposed to taste like, just enjoy how it tastes! It's subtle, yes, but sometimes that's what you need."

Catra takes another sip, more slowly. Maybe there's something to this, after all. When she's not focused on trying to identify the flavor, she can just relax and enjoy it for what it is.

Which is. Fucking sparkling water that's been placed in the same room as a picture of a fruit for six hours. 

"I gotta tell you buddy, if this is some kind of elaborate emotional object lesson I am really not picking up on the metaphor here so you might have to just explain it to me."

"There's no metaphor!" Scorpia replies. "I just really like seltzer water."

There's a brief pause before they both start laughing, and it's just. _Good._ They spend the next few hours together, Catra getting up and finding herself some actual fucking soda after she finishes her can of Sparkling Nothing. They talk about nothing, really, the kind of inconsequential trivia that Catra usually makes fun of people for discussing but which right now helps. She's feeling… not okay, exactly, she's pretty sure she's never going to feel okay again, but _better._ Like she can breathe a little bit. 

And then she has to go and ruin it.

"How did Adora take it?" She asks, the question slipping out before she realizes it. She's been wondering about Adora, since that late night phone call. She'd sounded _bad,_ like she was doing a lot worse than Catra was. Guilt twisted up in her gut at the thought. That was _not_ how this was supposed to work. Catra was the desperate, clingy, needy one, the one who couldn't live without her. Adora was the one who could have tripped and fell into a half-dozen better relationships within a week of them breaking up.

Scorpia's quiet for a long time, as if she's giving Catra a chance to retract the question. Catra kinda wants to, but doesn't. It's out there now.

"She's taking it pretty hard, Wildcat," Scorpia says after a long pause. "She seemed… broken, kind of. Kept staring off into space." She sighs, runs a hand through her short hair. "She asked me if you told me _why_. I didn't know what to tell her."

Catra looks away. Tries to find somewhere to look at but everything in this apartment has Adora's fingerprints on it. Especially her. "I…" she starts, unsure of how to explain herself. She knows she looks like the bad guy here, hell she _is,_ just for different reasons than everyone assumes. There's more to the story, yeah, parts that nobody but her knows about, extenuating circumstances, even, but it all just feels like an excuse. A way to get around the ugly truth. "I couldn't keep hurting her," she says, voice barely above a whisper. "You know Adora. She'd never stand up for herself. She would let me get away with anything, convince me, convince _herself_ she even liked it. We were… going places I don't think we should have gone. And she was never gonna tell me to stop and I was never gonna have the self-control to stop myself unless one of us broke it off. So I did." 

Scorpia sighs. "Look, I want you to know that at any point you want, we can stop talking about this… whole thing. Just say the word and I'll shut up."

 _That_ certainly doesn't bode well. "But?"

"But… Wildcat, that just doesn't make any sense. Forgive me if I'm overstepping here but before all this you were _happy,_ happier than I'd ever seen you. And Adora was happy, too. Even if you're right and she wouldn't say anything if you were… hurting her somehow, do you really think she'd be that happy if your relationship was a problem for her? Honestly I think… I think breaking it off the way you did hurt her more than anything you _think_ you were doing."

Catra digs her claws into the leather of the sofa. Adora used to snap at her for doing that. "You don't _get it,_ Scorpia. I know you don't want to believe anything bad about me because you're my friend, but our relationship was _fucked up._ The things I made her do… I was ruining her. And it was only getting worse."

"Okay, one, just because I'm your friend doesn't mean I wouldn't notice if you were doing something to hurt my _other friend._ For example, right now I'm noticing that you're being a huge jackass." That should probably piss Catra off, but something about the pleasant, matter-of-fact way Scorpia says it makes it hard to disagree. "And two, you've gotta stop speaking in generalities. If you were doing something so horrible to her then just _tell_ me about it, and I can help you figure out if it was wrong and what that means and how you can stop doing it. I… I really have a hard time believing it's as bad as you say."

Catra wishes she could agree. But she can't run from that reality anymore. She got so caught up in what _felt_ good that she lost sight of what was good for Adora, what she needed, what she could do without Catra in her way. She would have kept on hurting Adora, dragging her down into the mud with her, if someone hadn't explained it to her. Forced her to see what she didn't want to see. 

"I'm saying the word now, Scorpia. We're done talking about this." 

True to her word, Scorpia doesn't bring it up again. She puts on a movie for her to watch, cleans up the bottles on the floor, gets Catra a blanket and some pillows from the bedroom so she can lay down on the couch, before leaving.

"Just… look after yourself, Wildcat. And if you're having trouble doing that, let me know so I can look after you instead." 

Catra curls up on the couch. She wishes she was better at explaining this, wishes she could just come out and admit to every horrible thing she'd ever done so she could make Scorpia understand why she had to do what she did. But she was too much of a coward to come clean. She'd already lost the person who mattered most to her. She didn't want to lose her only friend, too. 

She used to have other friends. _Adora's_ friends. She liked them, honestly, even Glimmer (maybe especially Glimmer), but she'd known from the start that they wouldn't stick around without Adora there to connect them. And, sure enough, when that connection was severed, they all disappeared. Everyone except Scorpia, and she was guaranteed to find a way to drive her away sooner or later. It's what she does. Who she is. 

A monster.

She's glad Scorpia brought her a pillow. She's not sure she can sleep in the bed tonight. 

Too many memories.

* * *

"Catra?" Adora's voice is muffled on the other side of the door. It's not locked, she could just come inside whenever she wants. 

She doesn't.

"Catra, I'm not upset with you. I just think we should talk."

_What's there to talk about? Oh, my girlfriend is a fucked up monster who wants to torture me but I'm not upset with her, no, I'm just going to break up with her nice and calmly._

"I… I'm not sure I understand what's bothering you. But I'd like to. Please, can I come in?"

Ugh. She sounds so fucking sincere, it's _annoying_. Catra just wants to curl up on this bed and hide, but she can't say no to Adora when she's like this. "It's open," she says, not sure if it's loud enough for Adora to hear anyway. 

She must have though, because the door opens and a moment later Adora settles down on the bed next to her. "Hey, honey," she says, reaching out to run her fingers through Catra's unruly hair.

" _Don't touch me!"_ Catra snaps, and Adora's hand jerks back. Catra feels sick with guilt. Can she stop hurting her girlfriend, even for one second? "Just… not right now, okay?" 

Adora nods and fidgets with her own ponytail instead. "I just… it's okay that you're upset. You're allowed to be. I just wanna know what's going on. Did I do something wrong?"

Catra scoffs and it comes out uncomfortably close to a sob. "Of course not. It's not you. It's me. It's always me." 

"Well if it's you then I'm even more confused because you didn't do anything wrong. Is this…" Adora takes a breath. "Is this about the porn? You know I watch porn too, right? Well, read it, but I'm not mad at you because you were—"

"That's not the _point,"_ Catra kneads her claws angrily into the blanket. "It's _what_ I was watching." 

"Well, that didn't bother me either. It's just a fantasy—"

"You don't get it!" Catra yells, sitting up. "It's not just an idle fantasy for me, it's what I _want._ How can you possibly be okay with that? With the fact that when I look at you I just think about how I wanna _mess up_ your perfect fucking face, how I wanna make you cry, how I wanna hold you down and make you come until it _hurts?_ I'm a _monster,_ Adora, I try so hard not to want this but I just. Can't stop thinking about hurting you." She settles back down, curling up into a ball and wrapping her tail around her ankles. 

Adora scoots closer to her. "If you're a monster then… I'm a monster too. Because I want all those things. I've wanted that for, uh, a really long time actually. Since the first time you forgot to retract your claws."

Catra doesn't look at her. "That doesn't make it okay for me to hurt you. I, I _did_ something to you, I made you want this somehow, I _manipulated_ you—"

Adora snorts. "Don't give yourself that much credit. You know how stubborn I am. Do you really think you could make me ask for something I didn't really want? And, Catra," she says, voice lowering, her eyes half-lidded and _staring_. "I _am_ asking." 

Catra sits for a moment. Thinks. "You promise you'll tell me if it's too much? If I do anything you don't like?"

Adora throws up a quick three-fingered salute. "Scout's honor." 

"I was the girl scout, idiot, not you."

Adora grins wickedly. "Good, I'm not the one who's gonna be tying knots." 

That is just _too much,_ and Catra is pinning her girlfriend to bed before she even knows what's happening. She can feel her heart pounding in her chest, beating out a steady rhythm of _mine, mine, mine,_ and she wants to give into it, let it carry her away. 

"I want to bite you," she says, trailing kisses down Adora's jawbone. Her girlfriend whimpers.

"You— _ah!_ You can."

"I want to scratch you up, everywhere."

" _Yes."_

"I want to take you so hard you forget about anyone or anything else. I wanna make you _mine."_

"Catra, please, I want it, make me yours, _please!"_

Catra starts to make good on her promises, sinking her teeth into Adora's neck just shy of drawing blood. The full-bodied shudder and keening whine she's rewarded with is so much better than anything she'd ever imagined, she doesn't care if this is fucked up anymore it feels _so good_ to take Adora apart like this, make her into such a fucking _mess_ , all for her. 

The shudder doesn't stop though, and Catra realizes Adora is grinding her hips upwards in a _very_ particular way. "Did—" she stops to laugh incredulously. "Did you just _come?_ Just from me biting you?"

Adora turns her head away from Catra, embarrassed and _oh,_ that just won't do. Catra grabs her by the chin and forces her gaze back onto her own. " _Answer me,_ Adora."

Adora's pupils are blown wide, eyes dark with need and gone hazy with pleasure. "Yes," she whispers. "I just came for you."

She looks so _good_ like this, so fucking weak and needy with Catra's claws on her face. Catra feels like a fucking goddess, like she could move mountains, change the course of rivers, pluck the stars from the sky. She'd do it all, too, if it meant Adora would just keep _looking_ at her like that. 

" _Good girl_ , Adora," she says and _Jesus,_ it looks like Adora has been waiting to hear those words almost as long as she's been waiting to say them. "Let's see how many more you can give me." 

* * *

  
Catra feels sick to her stomach. If she had just been _stronger,_ if she had just been _better_ , if she had just refused to give in to the sick, perverted urges twisted up inside her, then maybe Adora would still be here. Maybe Adora would still be _hers._ Except wanting Adora to be hers was exactly the problem.

_You did the right thing, Catra. You're little more than an animal. Your… impulses cannot be controlled. But they must not be allowed to jeopardize Adora's future._

Catra goes to sleep with the sound of someone else's voice in her head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I know none of you were wondering about this at all but no, the flashback scene here does not take place in the same apartment as the present day scene, it's the same bed because Catra invested in a really nice bed in college and they've kept it across multiple places now. Why did I feel the need to clarify this. I don't know. I've written over 10k words in the last 24 hours and my brain doesn't work anymore


	5. Lost In The Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so things are starting to get a bit heavy here. I'm not gonna lie, the present day scenes are gonna keep getting worse before they get better, but I've made sure to include plenty of sweet, happy, totally-not-heartbreaking-in-context flashbacks to make up for it :)
> 
> Please be aware, THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS: a panic attack, discussions of domestic abuse (though no intimate partner violence occurs at any point in this fic), and some smut involving consensual bondage, sensory deprivation and responsible use of a safeword

Adora is terrible at Uno.

She's absolutely sure of this, despite the fact that Glimmer continues to insist that Uno isn't a game you can be good or bad at. 

_"You don't play Uno,"_ Glimmer likes to say, _"Uno plays you."_

Well if Uno is playing her right now then it's doing an exceptionally poor job of it, judging by the fact that she appears to be holding at least twice as many cards as anyone else at the table. Glimmer and Bow are on either side of her, doing their best to glare daggers at each other without giggling, Spinarella and Netossa sitting across from them with a shared look of intense and slightly terrifying concentration on their faces. Perfuma and Scorpia have been scooting closer and closer to each other on the couch every time Adora looks away and are losing almost as badly as she is right now, Seahawk keeps getting forced to draw cards for yelling "ADVENTURE" instead of "Uno", and Mermista is practically running away with the game.

Adora is very glad Bow shot down Sea Hawk's suggestion that they play for clothes.

Speaking of, she realizes it's somehow _still_ his turn.

"My dearest Mermista, queen of my heart, light of my life, lady of—"

Oh, that's how.

"Uuuugh, just _get on with it,_ " Mermista implores.

"As much as it pains me to cause you any kind of suffering, I am bound by the rules of this wretched game and the current rotation of the table to play this, my only legal card."

With a dramatic flourish and a woeful expression, Sea Hawk tosses a "Draw Four" card onto the table.

"Forgive me, my love! I had nary a choice in the matter! I vow I will find some way to redeem myself in your eyes, no matter the cost."

Mermista stares at the man who is, inexplicably, her boyfriend. "Uhh, first of all, can you _sit down?_ "

Sea Hawk sheepishly returns to his seat.

"And second of all," Mermista says, taking a card casually between two fingers and flipping it around to show Sea Hawk, "Reverse." 

Sea Hawk's jaw drops and he sits there, frozen in shock while Bow pats him on the back comfortingly and draws the four cards for him.

"Also like, Uno. Or whatever," Mermista finishes. 

Sea Hawk finally snaps out of his momentary trance, eyes sparkling and exclaims "I love you _so much,_ " before Mermista slaps a hand over his mouth.

"I like, loveyoutoo. Or whatever. Ugh can we just finish the game already?" 

Play proceeds in the other direction starting with Bow, and Adora's phone buzzes in her pocket.

**Glimmer (5:34 PM):** somebodys getting pegged 2nite

 **Adora (5:35 PM):** why would you send this to me

 **Adora (5:36 PM):** i thought we were friends

 **Adora (5:36 PM):** why would you make me imagine this thing

 **Glimmer (5:37 PM):** whats wrong with a man getting pegged

 **Glimmer (5:37 PM):** personally i think thats beautiful

 **Adora (5:38 PM):** thats not the problem

 **Adora (5:38 PM):** the problem is that the man in question is seahawk

 **Glimmer (5:39 PM):** its ur turn btw

One of the advantages of having an absurd number of cards in her hand is that Adora has no shortage of legal plays. She slaps down a green four and tunes out again. 

It's weird, everyone acting so _normal._ Laughing and joking like everything is fine when all Adora can think about is who isn't here. 

Catra wouldn't be playing of course, she would be sitting out all the more casual party games, waiting for Bow or Mermista or Netossa to break out one of those ludicrously complex European board games that Catra says have "true strategic depth and complexity" (Adora remembers when they played something called "Diplomacy" and Catra and Mermista refused to speak to each other for _weeks_ ). Right now, she'd be sitting in Adora's lap and batting at her face with her tail, trying to distract and fluster her, probably with great success. Occasionally, if Adora was about to make a play that Catra considered truly contemptible, she might snatch a better card out of Adora's hand and play it instead. 

She probably wouldn't be losing quite so badly if Catra were here. 

A lot of things would be better if Catra were here. 

Adora glances around the room again. Perfuma and Scorpia are full-on cuddling, Seahawk is still making those _eyes_ at Mermista, Spinarella and Netossa are somehow angrily holding hands, and Bow keeps looking between his phone and Glimmer and blushing.

Adora is the only single person in this room.

It's not right. It's not _fair._ Everyone is acting like this is fine, like this is how it's supposed to be, like there isn't a gaping hole in this room sucking all the light and energy out of it. All of it narrows down in Adora's mind to one thought:

Catra should be here. 

It doesn't matter if they're not together anymore, it doesn't matter if Catra broke her heart, she should _be here._ Did they even bother to invite her? Did they just unilaterally decide to keep Adora and exile Catra? To drop Catra out of their lives like Catra did to her?

Someone's saying her name. She can't tell who, can barely hear it. The room is swimming in front of her, her own heartbeat thundering in her ears, the only thing she can think is _Catra should be here._

"Adora, it's your turn again." Glimmer, maybe?

"Uh, Adora? Anybody home?" Mermista, definitely.

"Adora, sweetie? Are you okay?" It's Spinarella, reaching across the table to touch Adora's hand.

" _Stop it!"_ Adora shouts, throwing her cards down on the table. Spinarella pulls her hand back in alarm. "Just, stop it."

Adora can feel everyone's eyes on her. Concerned, pitying… scared. It's Bow who finally breaks the silence, leaning in but carefully not touching her. "Adora… stop what?"

"Stop acting like she doesn't exist!" Adora snaps. "Like breaking up with me means she just poofed out of existence, like she was never here, like none of you cared about her! Stop acting like you have to just stop being friends with her because we're not together anymore!" 

Glimmer's forehead scrunches up in that way it does when she's _really_ pissed off. "I kind of _do_ have to stop being friends with her if she's gonna treat you like that, Adora! I don't want someone in my life who would do that to anyone, let alone my best friend." 

"She's not—" Adora pulls her knees up onto her seat with her, wrapping her arms around them. "She's not a bad person Glimmer. You know that. You all know that."

"Uhh, do we really?" Mermista interjects. "She kind of just, dumped you without any explanation while you were out of town." 

"You know I've always been fond of Catra," Seahawk says, "but I can't pretend that what she did to you is acceptable behavior." 

Spinarella and Netossa exchange a worried glance before Spinarella hesitantly speaks up. "Sometimes… people do things that show we maybe didn't know them as well as we thought." 

Adora curls up further into herself. That's not right. It just _isn't._ She _knows_ Catra, knows her down to her bones. She knows Catra wouldn't hurt her like this.

But. She did.

"Uh, why is everyone looking at me?" Asks Scorpia. 

"Well, you're Catra's best friend, right?" Glimmer asks with more than a hint of accusation. "If anyone here is going to defend her, it's you."

Scorpia puts down her cards and sighs. "Look, you're right that Catra's my friend. And I'm not about to just stop being friends with her but… we talked about it. She gave me her reasons for acting the way she did and… well, they were kind of bullshit. I know that something is going on with her and she's clearly in a lot of pain but… this was not okay. What she did was not okay, and I have to accept that. We all do."

"What are you talking about?" Adora asks. "What reasons? What did she say?" 

Scorpia scratches the back of her head. "Ah jeez, now I kinda feel put on the spot, talking about this in front of everyone…" 

Adora just looks at her. She has to know. 

"It was uh, it was pretty bad. She was kinda incoherent but, she basically said that she felt like she was doing something that was hurting you, and you weren't stopping her, and she didn't know how to stop herself, so she was convinced the only way to keep you safe was to just… run away. I told her that didn't make sense, I tried to figure out what she was talking about, but she wouldn't tell me anything specific. She uh," Scorpia takes a deep breath, "she said she was a monster."

Everyone is staring at Adora. They all see her feeling at the empty space around her throat.

"Adora, honey…" Netossa says leaning forward. "What did she do?" 

She sees it in their eyes. The calculus they're running in their heads, adding up all the times she wore unseasonably high collars, the times they caught glimpses of the edges of broad, multicolored bruises across her back. Maybe even the way she might have seemed too ready to jump at Catra's every request. Like maybe, if you didn't understand what was going on, like she was afraid of something.

She could dispel all that speculation simply by telling the truth, explaining the things she and Catra did together, the precautions they took, the way Catra was always so _careful_ with her, making sure she always felt completely safe and listened to and loved.

But.

Those memories are private. They were forged in the quiet, solitary warmth of their bed, a wonderful secret they kept for each other. Something they discovered piece by precious piece _together._

And now those memories are all Adora has.

"Nothing," Adora finally says. "She didn't do anything like that. Ever."

"Bull _shit!_ " Glimmer shouts, rising to her feet. "I can't believe I never put it together before now but— Adora, the _bruises._ How long was she—"

"It isn't like that!" Adora shouts, panicking. "She never hurt me, I—"

"Then what, did you _fall down the stairs?_ Adora you can't keep _protecting_ her like this after she—"

" _Bruises?_ " Scorpia asks. "Wait, what bruises?" 

"Please, Glimmer, you don't understand—"

"Adora, honey, you know you can talk to us, right? No one here is going to judge you—"

"—maybe we should let her talk—"

"—you, you don't mean… oh, Wildcat…"

"—swear to God I'm going to _kill_ her next time I—"

Adora can't breathe. It's all going so much worse than she could have imagined, everything is spiraling out of control. Not only did she somehow make the kindest woman she's ever known believe she's some kind of _monster_ but now she's convinced all her friends, too. 

Her head hurts. The sound of so many voices overlapping grows indistinct but somehow _louder_ , voiceless, wordless screaming hammering at her ears. The room swims in front of her, her vision going hazy around the edges. She distantly hears someone call her name, again.

Then everything is dark.

* * *

Everything is dark.

Adora is drifting in soft, warm, darkness. She's surrounded by it, cradled by it. Everything around has faded, the sound of the old air conditioner working overtime, water rushing through the pipes while the neighbours do laundry, the feeling of the ropes around her wrists and ankles and the blindfold tied around her head. 

Her entire world is just Catra. Catra's touch, and Catra's voice. 

"How does that feel, kitten?" Catra asks, gently raking her claws down Adora's stomach. 

"ssss… good… feels good…"

Catra's laughing, now, and it's the most wonderful thing Adora has ever heard. All of this is the best, most wonderful thing that's ever happened to her. She feels… emptied out, in the best way, all her fear and stress and worries scraped out of her and replaced with… Warm, fluffy feelings. 

"love you…" she mutters as another wave of euphoria washes over her. It's getting harder to distinguish between Catra's touch and her voice. Everything is bleeding together into one perfect pool of pleasure, and Adora is _sinking_ into it, drifting down, further down and away from everything except her mistress.

"Love you too, kitten."

She can tell, at least, when Catra finally brushes a finger against her clit. The sensation is so sudden, so _overwhelming_ that it stands out from the rest.

"God, you look so _good_ like this. So deep in subspace for me aren't you? My pretty little kitten, all spaced out and hungry for my touch, isn't that right?"

 _"Yes…_ " 

"You are so _wet_ right now… you really need this, don't you? You've been so pent up all week. Poor kitty, I've been neglecting you haven't I? I'm sorry I haven't been here to take care of my good girl." She can feel Catra's mouth on her neck, nipping gently. "But I'm here now, baby. And I am gonna take _such good care of you_." 

Adora whines, wordlessly. Words are too much for her right now. She's barely even a person anymore, just a bundle of sensations and desires and _obedience,_ existing only to be played with by her owner. 

She can tell, at least, when Catra's finger slips inside her, slow and gentle, curling just slightly, making her groan and pull at the ropes holding her down. She wants more but she doesn't even have the words to ask for it, just more noises. She trusts Catra to understand.

"Shh baby, I know, I know. I promise you're gonna get there. I'm just gonna take it nice and slow, okay?"

As if Adora could do anything about it if she disagreed. Not that she does, exactly, she loves it when Catra builds her up slowly, really takes her time and makes her _feel_ it. She just can't think that far ahead right now. Time has lost any sort of meaning for her. She doesn't know how long she's been here like this. Maybe just a few minutes, maybe forever. There's no before, or after, only an endless, blissful _now._

Minutes pass, or maybe days, or years, or maybe no time at all but Adora's suddenly aware that she is _very_ close to coming. The whines coming from the back of her throat are louder, more desperate, her ankles pulling against the ropes as her hips jerk helplessly upward, Catra's voice in her ear becoming more insistent, more urgent.

"You're so close, aren't you baby? You need it so bad, I know you do. I'm gonna give it to you. Although…"

_Although?_

"It _might_ be fun to just leave you like this, all worked up and needy and unsatisfied, let you stew in it, maybe put a vibrator _juuuust_ out of reach so you have something to try and grind against. Really let you turn yourself into a mess for me."

Catra wouldn't really do that. Right? She wouldn't really leave Adora alone in the dark like that, take away her hands and her voice and leave her lost, helpless, _alone,_ for God knows how long? 

Suddenly the dark doesn't feel so warm anymore. It's cold, and hollow, a fathomless vacuum pulling at her skin, threatening to tear her open. Catra won't go. Catra _can't_ go. Doesn't she know that her kitten _needs_ her? 

"Give me your color," she hears Catra say like it's coming from a thousand miles away. But it's a command, and Adora never fails to follow a command. 

"Y-yellow," she gasps out, and instantly the darkness is gone, replaced with blinding light and Catra's face leaning over her, eyes boring into hers and full of concern.

It's the most beautiful thing she's ever seen.

"It's okay baby, I've got you, I'm right here, it's okay," Catra whispers. She knows Adora doesn't have the words to explain herself right now so she just holds her, strokes her hair, and waits. She grabs a bottle of water from the bedside table and helps Adora swallow a few mouthfuls, wiping her face clean when some of it spills.

After what feels like hours, Adora clears her throat to explain. 

"It was… the idea of you leaving. Everything else was, good, better than good, perfect really, but when you started to talk about maybe leaving me here… it scared me." 

"Oh, Adora," Catra whispers, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I would _never_ leave you alone like that, I promise. I was just teasing and I won't ever say anything like that to you again."

Adora sighs in relief, nuzzling at Catra's shoulder. "You're not going anywhere?"

Catra takes hold of her chin, guides Adora to meet her eyes. "Angel, I am _never_ leaving you. I promise." 

Adora smiles. She's happy. Happy to be here with the love of her life, to know that she can put her trust in her, to know that she's perfectly safe here, even when she's so vulnerable and exposed. 

But she's not _just_ happy…

"Can we keep going?" She asks, letting a little bit of a whine creep back into her voice. "Maybe without the blindfold, but I still wanna be tied up." 

Catra smiles, takes the blindfold away and sets it on the bedside table. "Anything for you, kitten."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know that's not actually how reverse cards work in Uno but it's a common house rule I've seen people use and do you really want to tell Mermista she can't do something? 
> 
> Also I apologize for making everyone imagine Seahawk getting pegged. I'm a big supporter of Men Getting Pegged in general but... It's Seahawk.
> 
> Anyway the next chapter is already mostly written but it's already half as long again as the rest of this fic combined so I might split it up and give you multiple Catra POV chapters in a row.


	6. Help Me Be Better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to get up at ass o' clock for work and I crave seratonin so here, have a chapter, please give me attention now.
> 
> For those of you who picked up on the foreshadowweavering, congrats, she's finally making her first formal appearance! Isn't that so exciting! I've been waiting to use that "Shadow Weaver's A+ Parenting" tag for ages.
> 
> Unsurprisingly Shadow Weaver comes with a whole host of content warnings so THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS: gaslighting, parental abuse, eating disorder-adjacent content, vomiting, references to conversion therapy, discussions of intergenerational abuse, discussions of intimate partner abuse, a severe panic attack and just so much Catra self-loathing.
> 
> Interspersed with the pain is also probably the sweetest and fluffiest flashback so far, but it's also smut so be aware that it contains rope bondage, erotic roleplay involving a prisoner/captor relationship, references to impact play and degredation/humiliation. None of the more extreme stuff makes an appearance in this chapter but they do discuss it.
> 
> Also, I know it might look like it for a second here but I wanna be absolutely clear: this is not a Shadow Weaver redemption fic. I don't fuck with redemption arcs for abusive parents they can all go to hell.
> 
> I just wanna say real quick that the response to this fic has been absolutely overwhelming, I'm so happy it's resonated with people. This was something I just tossed off out of frustration and the desire to just write _something_ and the fact that so many people are enjoying it makes me very happy. And don't worry, I've decided they're gonna get a happy ending after all, even if it's gonna be a looooong hard road to get there.

Surprisingly, Catra wakes up without a hangover. She guesses she's got Scorpia to thank for that, making her switch from alcohol to something resembling actual hydration before bed. 

She's got a lot to thank Scorpia for, really.

Catra seriously considers not getting up from the couch for the rest of the day before she remembers she actually has an appointment to keep.

Brunch.

Why the fuck does her mom wanna have _brunch,_ anyway? Shadow Weaver is not a _brunch_ person. If anything she's more of a drinking-wine-from-the-skulls-of-her-enemies or eating-exclusively-endangered-animals person. Honestly, Catra feels a little offended by her appropriation of such a core component of gay culture. Not that Catra's a brunch person either, really, but it's the principle of the thing.

Things with Shadow Weaver are… confusing, right now. Catra hates her, of course, that's an immutable fact of life at this point, but having her mom actually _try_ to be kind to her for once is… nice. Before this they had barely talked at all, and Catra had thought she preferred it that way, but it's hard to deny that having her around more these past few weeks has helped.

Even if this is all her fault in the first place.

_Stop deflecting, Catra. This isn't mom's fault. This is no one's fault but your own._

She showers quickly, skips breakfast on the assumption that "brunch" will include food, and manages to get herself to the trendy, upscale restaurant her mom picked out only a few minutes late. 

Shadow Weaver is already seated when she arrives. It's weird, seeing her mom without one of the face coverings she wore all the time growing up. Her scars are just as prominent as always, but she seems less concerned about them, more… open. 

And when she notices Catra approaching she _smiles,_ actually smiles like Catra would have killed to see her do even once growing up, and stands up. "Catra! I was beginning to worry you weren't coming," she says and _of course_ she has to draw attention to Catra being 120 seconds late, _of course_ the first thing she says is a criticism, but it lacks the usual bite. It's just a neutral observation.

Catra makes her way over to the booth reluctantly, steeling herself for an awkward conversation, but nothing could possibly prepare her for Shadow Weaver pulling her into a warm embrace.

That's fucked up, right? That she's been alive for over two decades and this is the first time her own mom has hugged her? It should be too little, too late. She should shove Shadow Weaver away, scream at her for daring to dole out affection _now_ of all times. Part of her wants to, the part she's coming to recognize as those "animal instincts" her mom was always trying to get her to rise above. She muzzles the beast inside her and returns the hug briefly before they both sit down. 

Maybe she just never deserved it before now.

"So, uh…" Catra begins, unsure how to even start this kind of conversation. "What do you think you're ordering?" 

She braces herself for the arrogant dismissal, the contempt at her for asking such a stupid question, but it doesn't come. "I was just planning on a light salad. What about you?" 

Okay. This is weird. This is a weird thing to be happening to her right now. Catra scans over the menu briefly and picks the first dish that looks appetizing. "Uh, I guess the bacon and eggs combo?"

"Interesting."

 _Right._ Shadow Weaver is a strict vegetarian, for health reasons rather than ethical ones, and has always been disappointed with Catra's inability to do the same. She had tried to break her of eating meat when she was a kid, once, until Catra landed in the hospital and a doctor explained that being a cat hybrid makes her an obligate carnivore. After that her mom had allowed her to eat small portions of meat on a semi-regular basis, but certainly never anything as fatty as bacon. 

"On second thought," Catra said, nausea threatening to overwhelm her, "I think I'm not that hungry."

"Are you sure, dear? It's my treat."

"I'm sure," she replies, trying to keep her hands from fidgeting in her lap. "I'll just have an iced tea." She ignores the waiter when they come to collect their orders, lets Shadow Weaver order for her. Her gaze remains firmly fixed on the table. 

"So, how have you been?" Her mother asks, as if she doesn't _know_ Catra's life has been in complete ruins since the moment she got that text. 

"Uh, good. Fine," Catra says.

Shadow Weaver reaches across the table and takes her hand. "I know this is difficult for you, Catra. But you made the right decision anyway. I'm proud of you."

Catra _hates_ how good that feels to hear, how part of her has been aching to hear that her entire life. "It doesn't feel like I did the right thing. Adora, Scorpia, all our friends… they all think I'm the bad guy here." 

"It may be… difficult for them to understand why this is necessary, but I have faith that they will see in time." 

Catra nods. She's trembling. She _knows_ Shadow Weaver is right about her but it's so easy to tell herself otherwise, to think this is just more manipulation and the only thing she's done wrong is listen to a woman who's never cared for her. 

But she knows better. Because even if Shadow Weaver doesn't really care about _her_ (doesn't she? Everything about this conversation has made Catra feel like she's losing her mind, like the mother she remembers is just some figment of her distorted imagination and this earnest, kind woman was here all along and Catra really was just too bad of a daughter to see it) she's always cared about _Adora._ If there's one thing Catra can rely on her mother for, it's looking out for Adora's best interests. 

"I know you've been in contact with Adora," Shadow Weaver says, and frost creeps up Catra's spine. 

"I— uh, she called _me_ , she seemed upset I didn't want to just hang up on her—"

Shadow Weaver sighs. "It's alright, Catra. We all have moments of weakness. I forgive you. You just need to remember that _indulgences_ like this hurt both of you, make it more difficult to move on." She smiles again, and Catra feels sick. "This is about what's best for Adora, and for you."

"I just— I miss her so much, and I _know_ I shouldn't but it's _hard—_ " 

Shadow Weaver slides into the seat next to her, wrapping an arm around Catra's shoulders. "It's alright dear. It's alright." 

For the first time in her life Catra cries in her mother's arms. Shadow Weaver gently strokes her hair and murmurs soft, comforting words and it's absolutely _wrong,_ Catra knows it can't be like this, was never like this with her but she can't bring herself to care. This is what she's always wanted. More than her independence, more than _Adora,_ more than anything, she just wants her mother to love her. She thought she was free of that need, thought she had torn that part of her blackened, necrotic heart out of her chest for good, but now she knows she was only ever papering over that lack. She has been hurting from not having this for _so long,_ so long that she hadn't even realized she was in pain. 

Now, all that pain, that inadequacy, that self-hatred is bubbling to the surface, streaming down her face and her mother is _there,_ holding her, telling her it's going to be okay.

It feels like a dream, except if it was a dream then Adora would be here, too.

"I don't want to hurt like this anymore. I don't want to hurt Adora, or anyone ever again," Catra realizes her fist is clutching at Shadow Weaver's jacket. She doesn't let go. "I want to be better. _Please,_ help me be better."

Shadow Weaver smiles like those were the exact words she's been waiting to hear for Catra's whole life, the magic words that will finally, _finally_ make her worthy of love. "I know, dear. Don't worry. I promise we will find a way to fix you."

* * *

Catra's _nervous._ It's been a long time since she's been nervous about anything between her and Adora, but this is a big step. None of it's _new,_ exactly but they're going further, combining things they've only tried out separately. So yeah, she's a little nervous. She wants to make this special for Adora, give her something to think about when she's off presenting her undergraduate research at that conference. Maybe keep her thoughts from straying to any hot mineral science babes she might run into. That's a thing, right? Catra doesn't actually know any other mineral science majors which means so far her data indicates that 100% of them are impossibly gorgeous, sweet, funny, adorable blonde lesbians, admittedly with an N of 1. 

Catra idly wonders if other mineral science majors also ask their girlfriends to tie them up and "interrogate" them while pretending to be some kind of evil gay supervillain, too.

She finishes laying out an outfit for Adora to wear: flattering, practical enough to fit Adora's chosen role as some kind of "rebel soldier", but also not expensive or sentimental enough that her girlfriend will be upset when Catra tears it to ribbons later. 

Satisfied, she takes a moment to admire her own outfit. It's dark, trousers and a buttoned up jacket with square shoulders that looks vaguely militaristic. Her hair is too long now to do the slicked-back look that used to drive Adora wild, but she's brushed it out into a more orderly ponytail than usual. It's not anything particularly shapely or revealing but if she knows her girlfriend (and she does), the air of authority it projects will have her ready to fall to her knees in seconds. 

She snaps a quick picture of herself in the mirror and sends it to Adora sans explanation. Adora's in class right now and shouldn't be checking her phone, but for _some reason_ Catra has a feeling she'll be getting a response soon.

Her phone buzzes and she grins. Sometimes her girlfriend can't keep her neediness hidden even over text. 

**Adora (3:17 PM):** uh wow

Catra snorts. She can't keep her complete and utter dorkiness hidden either.

**Catra (3:17 PM):** Texting in class, Adora? That's downright _naughty_

 **Adora (3:18 PM):** maybe you can do something about that

 **Catra (3:20 PM):** Tempting, but I'm afraid I already have plans tonight.

 **Adora (3:20 PM):** oh

Catra grins. She can practically _see_ the disappointed pout on her girlfriend's face right now. There is truly no greater pleasure in life than messing with Adora.

Well, maybe there's a _few._

**Adora (3:22 PM):** what plans

 **Catra (3:23 PM):** I've got a date with a captured rebel soldier. Maybe you've heard of her? They call her She-Ra.

 **Adora (3:23 PM):** oh

 **Adora (3:23 PM):** OH

 **Adora (3:24 PM):** we're doing that? As in, tonight? 

**Catra (3:24 PM):** Unless you have any objections.

 **Adora (3:25 PM):** nope definitely not no objections here

 **Catra (3:26 PM):** Good, because I have _lots_ of plans for you tonight. 

**Catra (3:27 PM):** Picked out a whole outfit for you and everything.

 **Catra (3:27 PM):** Don't worry, kitten, nothing you're too attached to.

 **Adora (3:28 PM):** oh fuck

 **Adora (3:28 PM):** i love you so fucking much baby

 **Catra (3:29 PM):** I love you too, kitten, now pay attention in class before you miss some important rock facts or something.

 **Catra (3:30 PM):** See you tonight. 

* * *

Catra returns home and tosses the offensively lime green brochure Shadow Weaver gave her onto the kitchen counter. She does not have the mental capacity to think about that right now. 

What she does need to think about is _food,_ because she hasn't eaten since early last night and unsurprisingly an iced tea that she hadn't even finished wasn't exactly what she needed. 

The thought of cooking sounds like it would take about 130% more energy than she currently has, so she decides on pizza, again, pointedly ignoring the accusatory stack of empty pizza boxes accumulating in the corner of the room. 

The modern miracle of online ordering allows her to avoid talking to another living person, which is always a positive in her book, so she completes her order and collapses on the couch, thinking about absolutely anything other than the brochure on the kitchen counter. It has some kind of mental or emotional gravity, she can feel her thoughts falling towards it whenever she lets them wander.

_There are places for people like you. People who struggle to control their destructive urges. It's not your fault, Catra, it's simply in your nature to behave this way. But there is help, professionals who teach you how to control your impulses, your emotions, help you find peace._

She turns on the TV, flipping through a list of available films and shows on various streaming services. Nothing seems interesting and she goes back to the top of the list like a woman opening the fridge for the sixth time at 2 AM as if hoping something new will have appeared there by magic. 

_It's a residential institution, yes. The treatment requires full-time monitoring and assistance. It's expensive, of course, but I'm more than happy to pay whatever price to get you the help you need._

She scrolls through her phone absently, thinking about calling Scorpia before she sees a post from her about #GameNight (not even on Twitter, but a small detail like that never stopped Scorpia from using a hashtag before) and decides it's better not to interrupt her when she's probably hanging out with Perfuma and. And Adora.

_I can't say whether you'll ever get to a place where it's safe for you to be around Adora again. That's not the focus here. We need to work on your unhealthy attachment to Adora, your obsession with her. It's only causing you pain, dear, to be so enamoured with someone you can't ever really have._

Catra finds her hands are curled up in fists, that she's trembling. She takes a deep breath and wills herself to relax. It almost works, even.

_It's nothing like that old school you went to, that's ridiculous. This is for adults, it's completely voluntary to check yourself in. You know I regret that, I'm not sure why you would bring it up other than to try and hurt me. This is exactly the kind of behavior I'm talking about Catra._

Her heart is beating too fast, too hard, she's worried it's going to burst in her chest, there's tears streaming down her face and her claws are digging into her own palms, blood welling up in the punctures.

_You never stop to think about how your desires, your selfish impulses, affect others. You're incapable of considering their feelings. It's not your fault, it's just who you are. But we can change that._

There's a weight pressing down on her chest, her lungs, she can't breathe, her body is shutting down and she feels like she's dying—

_An acquaintance of mine runs just such a facility. Take this. Read it. Promise me you'll at least consider it._

_Promise me._

_Promise._

_I promise, mom._

_Good. I love you, Catra._

_I love you too._

Catra sucks in a breath, air feeling cold and rough against her lungs. She feels bile rising in her throat and she can't swallow, can't run to the bathroom. She vomits on herself, on the couch and the living room floor. 

There's a knock on the door. 

At least the pizza's finally here.

* * *

Catra can hear Adora at the door to their apartment, can practically _taste_ the nervous, anticipatory energy in the way she fumbles with the lock. Perfect, graceful Adora can get _so_ clumsy when she's flustered. It's one of the many reasons Catra makes sure to get her flustered as frequently as possible. 

Finally, Adora manages to operate a simple lock and doorknob mechanism and she stumbles into the apartment, cheeks flushed. 

"Aww, has somebody been thinking about me?"

Adora turns to the source of the sound and Catra savours the way her eyes widen when they land on her. 

She's positioned herself _very_ strategically, perched on the counter with one leg up, reclining and inspecting the claws on her right hand. She's grinning wickedly, canines on full display, looking _dangerous_ in the way she knows sends her girlfriend's heart racing.

"Uh— hi, Catra," Adora stammers out, clutching the strap of her bookbag too tightly, knuckles going a little white, cheeks getting somehow redder.

Catra turns from inspecting her claws to meet Adora's gaze for the first time that evening. She tries to fill her expression with as much predatory hunger as possible, teeth playing over the points of her canines. " _Hey, Adora."_

Adora drops her bookbag.

Catra hops down from the counter and saunters over to Adora, making sure to add a little extra sway to her hips. From the way Adora's eyes snap down to her hips momentarily, she thinks it's working. 

She runs a careful claw along Adora's jaw, savoring the way her breath hitches when the sharp point makes gentle contact with her skin. "You okay, kitten?" She asks teasingly. "You seem a little nervous." 

Adora swallows loudly and Catra watches the way the muscles in her neck move. Everything about Adora is fascinating to her, every sound she makes, every twitch of her body, every single piece of her. 

And it's all _hers._

"I, uh. I'm just excited. You know how badly I want this." 

Catra chuckles. "Oh believe me, kitten, I _do._ But I'd like to hear it again if you don't mind. Tell me how badly you want it. Beg me for it." 

It's so _easy_ to get Adora worked up like this, but the lack of challenge has never made it any less delicious. Adora's eyes are wide, pupils dilated, breaths short and shallow. Catra trails her finger down to Adora's neck so she can feel her pulse hammering under her fingertips. 

Adora's prey. Wide-eyed, scared, excited prey, adrenaline pulsing through her veins, body ready to spring into action, mind crying out to just go limp and willing in Catra's grasp.

Catra's spent so much of her life being called an _animal._ A monster, a predator, a beast. Something less than human. Maybe so.

But Adora _likes_ it. Adora wants Catra to go feral on her, biting and scratching and claiming her territory, marking her up like a prized possession and as much as Catra tries to fight her more animalistic impulses, as much as wants to defy the low expectations placed on her all her life, there is something so satisfying about giving in to all her most primal urges, pushing down her concerns about what's _right_ or _civilized_ and just taking what she wants, taking what's _hers,_ for no reason other than because it feels good, and makes Adora feel good too. 

It's more than that, though. Adora's wanted her since before they both understood what _wanting_ someone was, but exploring this dynamic with her has added a whole new dimension to their relationship. It's intoxicating to be desired by the woman she loves this _intensely,_ to be the keeper of her secrets, the one who can fulfill her most shameful, sinful, and often absurdly detailed and convoluted fantasies. Maybe someone else could try it, go through all the motions, but they wouldn't _revel_ in it like her, wouldn't _feel_ that pulsing, hot pleasure at every sign of submission the way Catra does. 

Only Catra wants this as badly as Adora does, only Catra's fucked-up brain is so perfectly complementary to hers. The idea that she ever tried being with anyone else feels ridiculous now. They're perfect for each other. Adora is perfect _for her._

Her perfect, precious girl.

Said perfect girl is still trying to jumpstart her brain after Catra's seduction, her mouth opening and closing noiselessly as she struggles to string together the words to fulfill her girlfriend's command. Catra doesn't mind waiting. After all, she can just keep watching the rise and fall of Adora's chest, see the way her nipples are poking out through her tank top, keep enjoying the sight of Adora being a complete fucking mess all because of her. 

"I," Adora finally speaks, "I want you to capture me. I want to be your prisoner. I want you to tie me up and, uh," she stops and closes her eyes, a shiver running through her as the thought of the next word overwhelms her, " _beat_ me until I'm compliant, then tease me, _use_ me until I'm ready to give you everything, tell you anything you want to know just to get you to make me yours. I want you to, to humiliate me. Degrade me. Show me what a needy sl- slut I am for you, how I'll betray my cause just for the chance to serve you. _Please._ " 

God, now it's _Catra's_ turn to stop working, because _Jesus_ it is fucking _delicious_ to hear Adora talk like that, sweet shy Adora being so _filthy_ and asking for what she wants. 

"Was that good, mistress?" Adora asks, slightly breathless but with a flirtatious edge to her voice that proves she knows _exactly_ what her little speech did to her girlfriend.

"God, I love you," Catra whispers, staring at Adora with wide eyes, suddenly awestruck by how incredible this woman is.

"I love you too, Catra," Adora says, "and I really need you to kiss me right now."

Catra briefly abandons the notion of staying in character in favor of pulling her girlfriend into a sweet, loving kiss, pressing their lips together firmly and running her fingers through her soft, blonde hair. She is so in love with this girl it's frankly _stupid,_ it's making her soft and vulnerable and _weak._

What's that cheesy, sappy thing Netossa is always saying about her wife? _She's my weakness._ Catra might make fake gagging noises whenever those two get all lovey-dovey in public but she gets it, she really does. Adora makes her weak and the worst (best) part is she _doesn't care,_ she _wants_ to be weak if it means letting Adora in, having Adora like this.

They break for air and Catra's just. Staring into her girlfriends soft grey eyes, so trusting, so _happy_ just to be there with her. 

_I make her happy._

_I want to keep making her happy._

_I want to stay with her, forever._

"Adora…" she breathes, unsure of what to say next, just needing to say the name out loud, to give voice to the constant chorus of _Adora, Adora, Adora_ that sings inside her, to try and let Adora know how hopelessly lost she is in her eyes right now, how she never thought she'd live past the age of 20, never _wanted_ to before she knew she had the option to spend those extra years with her, how she wants to know what kind of mother Adora would be, even if the idea of being one herself _terrifies_ her, how she wants to beg Adora to skip this whole conference bullshit and stay here, with her, forever.

_God, I want to marry this woman._

The thought comes to her out of nowhere, she's never even considered marriage as an option before, not as something that might ever happen for her, but she knows with sudden, absolute clarity that she wants that with Adora. 

Adora already knows she belongs to Catra. Catra wants to show her that she belongs to Adora, too.

Not the right time for that conversation now, though. Adora's gonna be gone all week so there's plenty of time for her to come up with some kind of elaborate proposal scheme. She knows Adora would love that, and knows just as much that Scorpia will probably rupture a blood vessel from sheer joy if asked to help.

_Maybe I should ask someone a little better at subterfuge._

She brushes thoughts of rings and surprises aside and focuses on the matter at hand. Adora has been wanting to try this particular fantasy out for _months_ now and Catra isn't going to let her down.

"Adora," she repeats, a little more steadily, "I laid out an outfit for you on the bed. I want you to go change into it. When you're ready, come back out into the living room and we'll get started, okay?" 

"Okay," Adora whispers, eyes shining. She leans forward to give Catra one last peck on the lips before practically skipping away to their bedroom, giggling. 

_I can't believe I'm in love with that dork._

_I am, though. I really am._

Catra hangs up the discarded bookbag in the closet and finalizes her own preparations. She has a small bag on the kitchen counter with her supplies: hemp rope, a leather flogger with wide strips, cuffs, mascara and eyeliner. She breathes in and out, shakily, trying to get into character. 

She'd asked her thespian acquaintance Double Trouble for some acting advice, when Adora first started talking about roleplaying. She'd tried to play it off as innocently as possible but she's _certain_ they saw right through her. Thankfully the advice they gave was still genuinely helpful, and they didn't tease Catra about it. Too much.

_I am Force Captain Catra, commander of the Evil Horde. I am cunning, ruthless, a tactical genius. My greatest rival is the Rebellion soldier known as She-Ra, who has consistently thwarted my plans, but who I have finally lured into a trap and captured. I am dangerous, powerful, and willing to go to any lengths to accomplish my mission. I am in control._

_I am in control._

Adora's roleplay fantasies may be ridiculously elaborate but Catra can't deny that the extra level of detail helps get her into the right headspace. Triumphant, gloating, a little bit vindictive. Itching to take this upstart rebel down a peg. It's not too hard to imagine really. She pulls some of the resentment she used to feel about Adora's success, Adora's easy popularity, the way even her own mother loved Adora more than her, and uses it as fuel. Not too much. She's not angry. She's not looking for revenge. 

But she is _very_ much looking forward to making Adora into her pathetic, needy slut.

She's uneasy about tapping into those horrible feelings again, but she's more than willing to undergo a little private discomfort if it means giving Adora what she needs. 

And, well, if making Adora whimper and moan and beg to be humiliated fulfills some of her darkest, most shameful, high school fantasies? Just a sadly unavoidable consequence.

She picks up the rope and walks over to the conveniently placed pillar in their living room, the one that played a non zero role in their decision to rent this apartment, and checks the eye hook she drilled into it. She grabs it, lifts her feet off the ground and hangs off it for a moment to make sure it can hold her weight. It stays rock solid, and Catra feels satisfied she can string Adora up on her tiptoes with it safely. 

Adora emerges from their bedroom, looking shy and nervously picking at the sleeve of her doomed jacket. 

Catra gives her a reassuring smile and stands up on her tiptoes to give her a quick kiss on the top of her head, right on her little hair poof.

"I'm going to tie your wrists together in front of you now, and we'll go from there, okay?"

Adora nods, smiling, and offers her wrists up to Catra. She takes Adora's wrists in her hands, gently, and begins looping the rope around them. The soft hemp whispers over Adora's softer skin and she can hear Adora's breathing slowing, see her eyes fluttering closed, feel Adora start to relax and drop into subspace for her. "Focus, kitten. I need you to stay present for me right now. You're gonna need to be a brave, unconquerable rebel soldier in a moment." 

Adora's eyes snap back open and she grins sheepishly. "Oops," she murmurs, and Catra rewards her with a kiss on the cheek. 

"Good girl. Plenty of time to drop _deep_ for me when you finally accept that you're nothing more than a Force Captain's little pet slut."

Adora's breathing starts to pick up again.

She finishes securing her girlfriend's wrists in a double column tie, bends down to press a quick kiss to each palm as she does so, and tugs on the length of rope leftover to make sure it's secure. Adora stumbles forward slightly, off balance, and Catra grins. _Perfect. Absolutely perfect._

"Hold still for a moment. Close your eyes," Catra says. She grabs the mascara from her bag and begins applying it carefully to Adora's eyelashes. Adora doesn't normally wear makeup of any kind, and Catra's more than happy with her face the way it is, but that isn't the point. If she wanted to give her girlfriend a makeover she wouldn't use this stuff anyway, it's cheap, awful crap that runs at the first sign of trouble.

Which makes it perfect for what she's planning.

She finishes with the mascara and tosses it aside. Adora opens her eyes and flutters her eyelashes coyly. Catra tries not to show how effective that is.

"Do I look pretty now?" Adora asks, teasingly. Catra strokes her cheek.

"You always look pretty. Now, tell me your colors, kitten," she says, beginning the same pre-scene ritual they always do.

"Green to keep going, yellow to slow down, red to stop." Adora recites obediently.

"Good. And if your mouth is full or you can't speak for any reason?"

"One snap for green, two for yellow, and three for red."

"Show me."

Adora snaps once, twice, then three times, wiggling her fingers a little to make sure there's no numbness or loss of circulation from the rope.

"Good girl," Catra says, running a hand through Adora's hair. "I'm so proud of you." 

She watches the way Adora smiles at her praise, eyes closing, and savors it. Memorizes it and tucks it away in her heart for safe keeping.

"Remember, Adora. You're a brave soldier of the Rebellion, my nemesis, code named She-Ra. You're absolutely devoted to your cause. You're headstrong, confident, and no one in your cute little band of heroes can give you what you need. Not like I can. And you've walked right into my trap. You're my prisoner." 

Adora nods, her eyes still closed. 

"Good. Open your eyes when you're ready to begin." 

There's a brief pause as Adora settles into her role and then her eyes open, blazing with defiant fury. Catra yanks on the loose end of rope between her wrists again, pulling Adora forward and making her stumble into her grasp.

"Looks like you're mine now, _Adora._ " 

* * *

Pizza helped, although she had to eat a couple slices of plain bread first to make sure she wouldn't immediately throw it up. The place she ordered from also has ginger ale, which as far as Catra's concerned is essentially medicine. Her stomach has settled a little, and she's not shaking quite as much. She changes clothes, mops up the vomit from the couch and floor, and collapses onto the couch again. 

She doesn't look at the brochure.

Catra's confused. Nothing about today has made sense to her, really. It's like she's slipped into an alternate universe where her mom is _nice_ to her, wants to support her, wants to see her be better and is willing to work to help her get there. A whole lifetime of hard experience is telling her that doesn't make sense, that can't be possible.

Of course, it makes more sense once you consider that _Adora_ is involved. Shadow Weaver has always liked Adora more than her, has always crowed about Adora's "potential", to the point where Adora's mom made it clear that Adora could only come over when Shadow Weaver wasn't around. Catra's not sure she can really blame her mother for that, though. Adora _is_ better than her, in just about every imaginable way. Adora deserves the best, and that's definitely _not_ Catra. 

She knows that Shadow Weaver can't be trusted. That this sudden onslaught of affection is probably just another one of her sick games. But when it comes to Adora's best interests, she can at least be trusted to be honest. And, well… unlike her friends, Shadow Weaver doesn't care about her enough to pull punches when it comes to how she's holding Adora back. 

Shadow Weaver knows something they don't, too.

Laying down on the couch, Catra lets her eyes drift across the room, settling in the eye hook drilled into the pillar in their living room. Putting that thing in had basically meant guaranteeing they would never see a cent of their safety deposit on this place, and while Catra generally considered those gone the moment she moved in, Adora the fastidious cleaner always made sure to get back every penny. So why didn't she object to Catra's lease-violating DIY project? 

_Because she saw how badly you wanted to tie her to that pillar. Knew the idea wouldn't leave your head. You did a stupid, harmful thing because you couldn't control yourself and she let you get away with it. Like always._

Is Adora… scared of her? The thought brings Catra dangerously close to vomiting again, but she's able to suppress it this time. Catra knows all about putting on a smiling face, pretending to be happy, insisting that you're _fine_ while fear eats you up inside. She remembers telling Shadow Weaver that she loved working in the garden even when scratching in the dirt would leave her claws snagged and bleeding, because she knew expressing displeasure would hurt far worse. 

It's never occurred to her before that Adora might be doing the same thing. Playing along, insisting she _likes_ Catra's brutal, disgusting games because she's scared that if she says no Catra might do something worse. She wouldn't, she's _sure_ she wouldn't, would pack herself up and check herself into Shadow Weaver's weird therapy camp thing before _ever_ violating Adora's consent but…

Does Adora know that? Does she see anything other than a vicious, snarling beast who needs to be appeased? Kept happy, _satisfied_ so it doesn't go feral and tear her apart? 

Adora could have left her, if that were the case. Catra tries to comfort herself with that. Except… she knows better. Knows people have all sorts of reasons for staying in relationships that hurt them. She can't use the fact that Adora didn't run away as proof that she wasn't mistreated. Wasn't _abused._

Catra's taken the standard suite of intro to psych classes. She knows that victims of abuse are often likely to pass that abuse on to their loved ones. She remembers stumbling out of the classroom after that lecture, that knowledge sinking in, settling in her gut like a heavy stone. _I'm no better than Shadow Weaver._

She's broken, shattered glass, a collection of edges for others to cut themselves on. She _knew_ that, and she got involved with Adora anyway. Stole her away from her date at that _fucking_ dance and seduced her, tricked her into slicing open her skin on Catra's edges. 

Ruined her.

She knows all of that. Knows there is no such thing as forgiveness for what she's done, knows that she is a creature of pain, of violence, and that Adora can never be safe around her. Never.

And she _wants_ Adora anyway. 

She's never stopped wanting Adora, not since they were in middle school together. Even in their worst moments as teenagers, when she tried to convince herself that Adora was her enemy, her rival, she never stopped thinking about her, wanting to get under her skin, to fluster her, to _touch_ her, to make sure Adora couldn't stop thinking about her either. She's just a, a _thing_ that wants Adora and is incapable of controlling herself around her even if it means hurting the one thing in this world that she loves. 

Shadow Weaver's right about her. Despite everything, she's still the person who knows Catra best in the world. She knows what Catra is, what she does to other people.

Catra doesn't remember when she stood up, walked over the kitchen counter. But she's here. And the brochure is in her hands. 

_Purity and Light Rehabilitation and Recovery Center._

Maybe it'll help. Maybe it won't. But at the very least it will keep her away from the people who are most vulnerable to her. 

She's made up her mind.

_I should probably tell Scorpia I won't be around for a while._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Projecting your own maternal abuse and abandonment issues onto a spicy fictional catgirl? Couldn't be me.
> 
> Adora being a Mineral Science major is inspired by billyspilgrimage's wonderful fic [It Was Such A Bad Idea](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25141207/chapters/60916771), which is delightful and which you should definitely read. I went with Mineral Science instead of geology because the phrase "hot mineral science babes" entered my head and it made me laugh so much I had to use it.
> 
> Gold star to anyone who spots the Vita Sackeville-West reference I tossed in here because I think I'm so smart or something.
> 
> For the horny among you, don't worry, the second half of that flashback is coming in future chapters with all the Good Shit your horny ass craves.
> 
> And for those who came away from this chapter terrified for Catra: you should be :) 
> 
> Thanks for reading


	7. A Matter of Life and Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go! Chapter seven! This chapter was a ton of fun to write and is definitely the fluffiest one so far. The flashback sequence here is just deeply self indulgent. After this we're going back to Catra's POV and some hardcore misery so I thought I would give y'all a little glimpse of Adora being young and dumb and yearning, as a treat.
> 
> THIS CHAPTER INCLUDES: discussion of bruises, some symptoms of a panic attack, compulsory heterosexuality, a brief mention of a dead parent.

Adora wakes up to a glass of water being shoved in her face. She takes it with trembling hands and drinks half of it, slowly, blinking as the room comes into soft focus around her.

She's in Bow and Glimmer's guest room, her room now she supposes. She's laying down on the futon with her head propped up by a stack of pillows, Bow and Spinarella leaning over with concern. She rubs her eyes wearily and looks from one to the other, and back to the half-empty glass in her hand.

"Drink the rest of it," Bow urges quietly and Adora does, letting Bow take the glass away again when she finishes. She carefully pulls herself up to a sitting position, her head spinning a little as she does. She feels completely wiped out, like she just passed out in the last mile of a marathon, her body pushed to its absolute limit. 

"Adora," Spinarella begins softly, her tone low and even like she's working to a frightened animal. "We absolutely respect your privacy, and we're all sorry that things went out of control like they did. Game night wasn't the appropriate setting to have that conversation, and we shouldn't have escalated it."

Of course, Spinarella and Bow weren't the ones responsible for that, but Adora understands this is an apology delivered on behalf of the whole group. It's for the best. She's not sure she wants to see Glimmer right now. 

Bow edges slightly closer, careful not to touch her. "That being said… we're worried about you, Adora. Everything we've heard today is… really concerning." Adora looks at Bow, silently pleading with him to drop the subject. He sighs.

"Look, this isn't about whether or not Catra is a bad person, or punishing her for something she did to you or anything like that. Glimmer and I are going to have a conversation about that but you don't need to worry about that. What matters is us knowing that you're safe, physically and emotionally, and knowing what it is we need to do to help you, okay?" 

"It's…" Adora shifts uncomfortably. She wants to spring up and sprint out of the room, the apartment, find somewhere to hide far away from her friends and this conversation, but her limbs are leaden and weak. "It's private. It's not something I can talk about. But it's _fine._ "

"And we respect that, but you have to know how this _looks,_ Adora. We're not asking for all the details, but if something happened to you, we need to know about. Just, yes or no: did Catra hit you?"

And, oh, what a question that is. The truth is yes, she absolutely did, and it was _incredible._ Adora can still feel faint echoes of sweet agony as the pillows press against her back where Catra flogged her right before she left for her conference. Everything about that day had been _perfect,_ she'd spent half the conference in her hotel room reminiscing about it.

Now she'll probably spend the rest of her life like that.

Bow's still waiting for an answer and Adora pushes those distractions aside. She doesn't want to talk about this, but if she has to… Bow is the kindest, most open-hearted person she knows, and Spinarella is basically like her surrogate mom—nope, nope nope do _not_ think that right now that will only make this worse.

Adora inhales carefully. "Yes," she says, and sees Bow's eyes widen, his hands curl into fists. "But only when I asked her to," Adora adds quickly. 

"Adora," Bow says and the sorrow, the _pity_ in his voice practically breaks her, "are you saying you think you _deserved_ it?" God, no, how he is still not _getting_ it? Adora wants to interrupt him, try and explain but her throat is closing up, she's shaking again, she can't do this, _she can't do this,_ she needs her collar she needs Catra she needs _Catra_ more than anything right now, she could explain it all with a joke and a wry smile and everything would be okay if only Catra were here.

"Adora, that's… if she made you think… Adora it is _never_ your fault if someone—" 

"Bow," Spinarella interrupts quietly. "I, I don't think that's what she means." She turns to Adora and her eyes are unbearably gentle, calm and steady and deep as a quiet sea. "Adora… Can I show you something?" She asks. Adora nods.

Spinarella begins to take off her shirt and about a third of Adora's neurons immediately misfire because _that's her mom_ well, not exactly her mom but _still kind of_ and she's sitting on Adora's bed and taking off her shirt and _what is happening right now?_

Bow doesn't look better off, his face is noticeably darker from blushing and he's trying to find some words but his mouth opens and shuts uselessly.

Spinarella pulls the baggy t-shirt over her head, leaving her in a utilitarian pink bra, and turns around. Adora can't stop the sharp intake of breath at what she sees.

Painted across Spinarella's back is a veritable fresco of bruises, some fresh in vibrant blue and purple, some faded into rich yellows, greens and browns, layering on top of and bleeding into each other. It reminds Adora of camping far away from the lights of the city, staring up at one of the brilliant nebulae that stretch across the sky.

_Beautiful._

Bow looks confused and horrified and dumbstruck all at once and doesn't recover until Spinarella's shirt is safely back over her head and covering her skin again. She turns back to Adora, takes her hand gently, stroking the back of it with her thumb. 

"Netossa gave me those, because I asked her to. Because I _wanted_ her to. Only as much as I wanted, when I wanted it, never anything more, never anything that didn't feel good. Is that what you meant by 'asking her' for it? Is that what you and Catra did together?" 

Adora's going to cry. She can't stop herself. She doesn't want to anymore because for the first time in weeks crying feels _good,_ it feels like she's releasing something awful that's been building up inside her, like draining an abscess, leaving behind an open wound but one that is clean and can finally begin to heal. She nods, shakily, tears streaming down her face and clutches Spinarella's hand tight.

She's always known, on an intellectual level, that there were other people like her out there. After all, somebody is writing the erotica she reads, someone is making the rope tutorials Catra used to watch, the flogger and the collar and the other custom leatherwork they'd purchased.

She just never thought it would be someone so, so _close,_ so _normal_ and happy and stable, someone she fiercely admires, whose advice and opinions she values so much.

She wonders if maybe it would have been easier on Catra, when they were first exploring this and she was struggling with constant guilt, if she could have talked to Netossa, received some confirmation that she wasn't alone in her desires, that it was _normal_ and _okay_ to want those things.

She wonders if it might have made things different a few weeks ago, too.

Spinarella asks if she needs a hug and Adora nods, pressing her face into Spinarella's shoulder and letting her tears soak her shirt as Spinarella strokes her hair slowly and whispers that it's okay, it's all gonna be okay.

"Okay, so…" Bow interjects once it becomes apparent that the hug isn't ending anytime soon. "Just to be clear, Catra did _not_ physically abuse you, you two were just doing… uh, ya know…"

"Consensual sadomasochism?" Spinarella supplies, and Bow gives an awkward thumbs up.

"Yeah, uh. That."

Adora laughs through her tears. " _Yes,_ Bow. Catra's not a monster, she just has a kinky mess of a girlfriend who likes getting beat up in her spare time." 

_Had. Had a girlfriend._

Adora sighs, long and shaky, sniffling as her tears start to dry up. Slowly, she pulls herself away from Spinarella.

"I, I know it's nothing to be ashamed of. But I don't really wanna tell other people about this. It's _ours._ It's… we didn't really have a model for that kind of relationship. We had to work it out on our own and… it feels like we invented it. Like it belongs to us."

Spinarella smiles. "Don't all lovers feel like they're inventing something?"

Adora blinks. "What?" 

Spinarella laughs, bright and clear and kind. "Adora, sweetie, you need to watch more movies." She stands up and kisses Adora on the top of her head. "I get it, sweetie. I really do. We might need to explain some things to appease Glimmer, she's kind of ready to muster the Rohirrim out there, but I promise we'll use as little detail as possible. Your friends just want to know that you're okay." 

Adora relaxes a little, slumps down a bit against her pillow throne. "Glimmer's ready to do what?"

"Okay, you are gonna start coming over to our house for movie night now because this is really an unacceptable knowledge gap for a woman your age," Spinarella says. 

"Well maybe if more people would just talk about _rocks_ I wouldn't be so confused all the time," Adora mutters.

"But… then we'd be talking about _rocks,"_ says Bow.

"What's wrong with rocks? Rocks are cool!" 

"Okay, honey," Spinarella says. "You just lay down for a while, maybe take a nap. We're gonna go out there and calm everybody down. Don't feel like you need to come out before you're ready, or at all if you aren't feeling like it." 

Adora nods and slides further down the pillows until she's laying down. Spinarella and Bow exit the room, dimming the lights on the way out. 

Adora lays down in the semi-darkness and, unsurprisingly, her thoughts drift back to Catra. She's tempted to think about their scene from before the conference, the marks from which are still faintly visible on her skin. She doesn't, though, she knows that memories degrade each time they're consciously recalled, details fading and distorted or constructed out of whole cloth with each recollection. If that night really is her last memory of Catra, she wants to savor it, wait until she can write down every detail as precisely as possible and keep it with her long after it should have faded entirely.

Instead, she casts her thoughts back much further, to the first time she realized she wanted Catra. It was a night for a lot of firsts, actually. The first time Catra kissed her, touched her. Even if Catra hadn't marked up or bitten her like she would later make a habit of, in Adora's opinion she had been claimed that night just as thoroughly as any after. 

She closes her eyes and remembers the night Catra made her _hers._

* * *

Adora is trapped.

Glimmer looms over her with a panoply of brushes and palettes and God-knows-what-else, face screwed up in concentration as she attempts to indoctrinate Adora into the strange and esoteric art of makeup.

"So, uh, my date."

"Yeah? What about him?"

"He's attractive, right?"

Glimmer gives her an odd look. "Don't you think so?"

"Yes! Unless, uh, he's not, in which case no?"

Glimmer's eyes narrow suspiciously and for a moment Adora feels like she's being suspected of some kind of crime.

"Adora… There's no such thing as objectively attractive. If you're attracted to him, he's attractive to you. If you're not, then he isn't. That's really all there is to it." 

Adora laughs awkwardly. "Well, I am attracted to him. I mean, I should be, right? He's uh. Tall? He has a face— that's good, right?"

"He has a- Adora, everyone has a face, you have a face, I have a face. If that's the only thing you can think of, I seriously doubt you're actually attracted to him." 

"Ugh, like _you_ could name more things you like about Bow if I asked you!"

Glimmers begins counting off on her fingers. "His smile, the way his forehead crinkles when he's working on a difficult problem, how kind he is, his abs, good _god_ his abs, the way he always smells kind of like warm blankets—"

"Okay, okay!" Adora grumbles. "You've made your point."

Glimmer puts down her brushes. "Adora, you know you don't have to be attracted to anyone, right? Plenty of people aren't and they're perfectly capable of leading happy lives." She sighs. "With Bow, it's like… I'm always thinking about him, how I can make him smile, what he's thinking about, just wanting to spend time with him, be close to him, kiss him and—" Glimmer blushes and realizes she's been playing with a lock of her hair. "Stuff. The point is, if you don't feel that way about someone you shouldn't waste your time on them, and if there's no one you think about like that, that's _okay."_

_Someone I'm always thinking about._

Surely it doesn't count if it's someone who hates her, right? Someone who's always trying to get under her skin, to piss her off, to one-up her. Or if it's someone she just _knows_ really well, it's normal to notice things about them if you're just _used_ to them being around. If she's always thinking about how they came back from that extra-long summer with short hair then that's just, normal curiosity, just a friend trying to figure out the pros and cons of a look she might wanna try herself. 

Knowing things about someone doesn't mean you're attracted to them. It just means you're observant, paying attention. A good friend. 

Except. What if you're not really friends anymore? What does it mean then? People don't stay up at night thinking about how their not-friend's new tomboy aesthetic is _really_ working for them, do they? Thinking about how despite everything, their laugh still sounds the same as it does when they were kids. Wondering what else is the same, and what might be _different._ Would it feel different, now, to be close to her? To sleep in the same bed like they did on the nights her mom told her not to bother coming home? To _touch_ her like she once had, strange and new and clumsy and full of wonder? Would it still feel like touching heave—

"Is there someone you feel that way about, Adora?" The look Glimmer's giving her is _so strange,_ like maybe she knows something Adora doesn't.

" _Yes."_

_Shit shit shit shit shit._ She didn't mean that. It just, came out, her traitorous mouth not even having the decency to check with her brain before blurting out the incriminating word.

Glimmer is giving her a _very_ curious look now and Adora is desperately searching for a way out of this.

"That's uh, yeah, that's how I am about Daniel."

"Who?"

"You know, my date to the dance."

Glimmer raises a single eyebrow. "You mean Devon?"

Adora is sweating bullets right now, she feels like she's on trial for murder and being cross-examined. "Uh, yeah. Devon. Silly me, haha."

"His name isn't Devon, either."

_What?_

"I knew that! I was just, uh, playing along! Funny joke! Good times with good friends, ya know? Inside jokes and all that." She makes what she knows is a pathetic pair of finger guns.

Glimmer is looking _impossibly_ smug right now. "Makeup's done, come on let's go meet Bow and _Devon._ " 

"Wait!" Adora calls as she struggles to put on her heels and follow Glimmer out the door.

_Fuck, I still don't know what his name is._

* * *

Adora is definitely having a good time at the dance. Absolutely. She isn't nervous about showing her bare shoulders with so many people in the room, certainly isn't dreading having her date's arms looped around her waist, and by no means whatsoever is she desperately hoping this punch turns out to be several times more alcoholic than advertised. 

Because Adora likes dancing. Loves it, actually. Any rumors to the contrary are baseless, libelous, even. There's nowhere she'd rather be than spinning in nauseating circles to a country pop song she doesn't recognize with a boy from the men's soccer team who she's reasonably certain is named David breathing down her neck. 

Yessiree. Adora lives for moments like these.

She takes another swig of punch.

David, or at least she's pretty sure it's David, it might actually be Dylan or perhaps Drew, gives her a cheesy grin and goes to hold her hand. Adora accepts with the appropriate level of enthusiasm, she hopes, and tries to ignore how his palms are _wet_ and weirdly sticky and how he's standing close enough that she can smell his cologne, which appears to have been inspired by the concept of Large Cars On Fire, and how the entire sensory ensemble makes her want to gag. 

She's trying to think of an excuse to extricate herself from the contact that she is _definitely_ _very comfortable with_ when someone taps her on the shoulder.

Adora turns around, her hand slipping out of David/Dylan/Drew's and sees—

Oh.

Oh, _wow._

Catra is at the dance, apparently, despite her well-known contempt for university-sponsored social events. 

Catra is at the dance and she is wearing a _suit._

It's the color of red wine with a matching tie and a magenta button-up underneath, perfectly tailored to cut a dashing figure, making Drew/Dominic/Damien look positively underdressed in his wrinkled, second-hand suit (Not that Adora's comparing them or anything). And on top of _that,_ she'd added a pair of fingerless motorcycle gloves because even dressed to the nines Catra is still _Catra,_ rebellious, badass, take-no-shit _Catra._

Adora realizes she's been forgetting to breath.

"Hey, Adora," Catra says, like it's the easiest thing in the world, like it just comes naturally to let Adora's name slip out of her mouth like _that,_ like it's covered in honey. Catra looks her over from head to toe and then back up again and Adora fidgets, wondering if there's something wrong with her outfit. 

Catra reaches out her hand, palm upwards, like she's expecting Adora to take it or something. 

(Adora is _not_ thinking about whether that might feel different than holding Damien/Dereck/Darell's hand. She's _not._ )

"Adora," she says, "I need you—"

_What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what is happening to me right now_

"—to come with me." Catra smiles. Adora can see her canines. "It's a matter of life and death."

Adora doesn't hesitate, doesn't even bother glancing at Darell/Darren/Dean before sliding her hand into Catra's and lacing their fingers together. She's not thinking about the dance, or her date, or really _anything_ except the feel of Catra's hand in hers, the way Catra seems almost a little surprised when she accepts, the wild, eager look in Catra's eyes as she takes Adora by the hand and _runs,_ leading her up a flight of stairs and out into the evening air.

Adora's momentum carries her forward when Catra stops and turns and she finds herself practically pressed up against her not-friend, close enough to feel the heat coming off Catra's body, more than close enough to count the individual freckles on Catra's face if she wanted to.

She thinks she might want to.

It takes her longer than it should to remember how she got here, that there's supposedly a reason Catra dragged her out here onto the roof. It takes her even longer to find enough words to ask about it.

"So what's so important?" She asks, letting go off Catra's hand and stepping back, ignoring the way her body cries out at the distance. "You said it was a matter of life and death."

Catra grins and leans back against the railing, reaching up to loosen the tie around her neck. "It was. I'm pretty sure if I left you with that guy another second you would have literally died of boredom." 

Oh. Right. Catra tricked her. She probably should have seen that coming, given that the extent of her relationship with Catra for the past two years has been a string of incredibly elaborate pranks. 

She should probably also be at least somewhat mad about it.

Adora crosses her arms, not sure what to do with the way Catra's gaze keeps lingering on her body. "He— he's a nice guy."

Catra's wearing the same shit-eating grin as Glimmer earlier. Except, ya know. Pointier. 

"Oh yeah? What's his name?"

_Fuck._

Goddammit when the captain of the men's soccer team walked up to her and asked her to this dance she didn't think there was gonna be a fucking _pop quiz_ about it. If she'd known how many people were gonna grill her about this she would have paid more attention when he introduced himself.

Probably.

Catra's smile is growing wider with every moment Adora doesn't answer so she prays for luck and throws a Hail Mary. "Dallas." 

Catra throws her head back in laughter and Adora's pretty sure that means she failed, but somehow she doesn't feel too bad about it. She likes hearing Catra laugh. 

"Oh, _princess,_ that is _priceless_. That poor guy never had a chance with you, did he? Can't blame him for trying though," Catra says, wiping tears from her eyes.

_Does that mean you wanna try too?_

"Whatever," Adora grumbles, leaning against the railing next to her, "why'd you really bring me out here?"

"Exactly what I said," Catra shrugs, "you were _dying_ out there, Adora. School dances are _so_ not your scene." 

"And this is?" Adora asks, gesturing at the empty rooftop. 

For the first time tonight, Catra looks something less than completely sure of herself. "Well it's gotta be better than shitty music and _Dallas_ down there, right?"

Adora doesn't contest it. "So that's it? No pranks, no evil schemes, just… hanging out up here?"

Catra pushes herself off the railing and walks towards the center of the roof, slouching a bit with her thumbs hooked in the pockets of her slacks. "I… I think I'm done with that kind of shit. Doesn't even bother you anymore. Just got old, I guess."

"Oh." Adora's not sure why she feels so disappointed. "Well just because you're not trying to be my _eternal nemesis_ or whatever anymore doesn't mean we can't hang out." 

Catra turns around and her gaze is so, so completely different from the Catra Adora's used to. She looks… vulnerable, uncertain, a little scared. Like there's something here she's afraid to lose. "Isn't that what we're doing right now? _Hanging out?"_

Adora feels something strange and warm and brave in her chest. "What do you think?"

"I think…" Catra begins to walk towards her, her slouch melting into a slow saunter, hips rolling with every step (not that Adora's looking). "...that you're acting _awfully_ ungrateful to the person who just rescued you from certain death-by-boredom." She stops so _close_ to Adora, her head tilted ever so slightly up, something foreign and _enticing_ shining in her eyes. She leans in even closer, and Adora can feel every breath brushing against her lips.

"Normally, the princess rewards her brave and noble rescuer with a kiss."

_Is there someone you feel that way about, Adora?_

"Well," Adora breathes, her body once again deciding to stop waiting for her brain to get on the same page it's been on since _middle school._ "I wouldn't want such courage going unrewarded." 

And. 

And then.

And _then._

Catra's mouth is on hers and it's _everything,_ absolutely _everything._

Adora isn't good at wanting things. She never has been. She never _wanted_ to be a straight-A student, she was just told she should be. She didn't want to play soccer, even though she ultimately fell in love with it. Despite what everyone her whole life has told her, she's never, not even once, wanted a boy. 

But she wants Catra. 

She wants Catra in ways she hasn't even thought about before. She's only barely got a taste of Catra's mouth on hers and she's already thinking about what it might feel like in other places. She feels desperate. Greedy. Like if she doesn't get more of this, more _Catra,_ something inside her might shatter. 

She whines pathetically when Catra pulls away, the lipstick Glimmer so carefully applied reduced to a crimson gash across Catra's mouth. Catra's pupils are wide and dark, she looks as utterly undone as Adora feels, though she's trying to play it off like it's nothing. She runs a hand through her slicked-back hair and recovers her smirk, looking at Adora and snarking, "Fuck, princess you are _so_ needy—"

Adora grabs her by that fucking absurdly sexy tie and pulls her back in. She's had enough of talking. She and Catra have been _talking_ to each other since they were in kindergarten and she's a lot more interested in whatever _this_ is. 

Catra gives in to her and that in of itself is a _miracle_ because when has Catra ever given in to anything or anyone, ever? She feels Catra's tongue, softer than a cat's but still rougher than any human's, licking at her lips and on instinct she opens her mouth and welcomes it inside and _fuck,_ she always thought this sounded gross but when it's _Catra_ she totally gets it, can't get enough of the way Catra explores her mouth, maps her out like territory she's preparing to conquer. 

Catra's mouth slips away from her own and Adora's getting ready to protest when suddenly Catra's lips are on her neck and Adora groans and tilts her head back because _fuck,_ if Catra wants her neck she can fucking have all of it.

_She can have all of me, if she wants it._

_God I hope she wants it._

Catra's nipping at her throat now and Adora's losing focus, her hands gripping the railing until her knuckles turn white. 

Already that feels better than anything Adora has ever felt before, but she can't get rid of the feeling that there's something _more,_ something even better that she's craving and that Catra can give her.

 _"Catra,"_ she whines and Catra pulls back from her throat, looks at her like she just whispered the most precious and impossible secret in creation.

"Yeah, baby?" She says, her voice low and ragged with desire. 

That on its own is enough to send a wave of warmth through Adora's body, just the pet name and the fact that Catra sounds so fucking _wrecked_ right now, that it's _Adora_ doing that to her.

"I, I need—" she can't find the right words. "I don't even know _,_ I just _need_." Catra's right hand lands on her knee and she gasps. " _Please."_

"I think…" Catra trails off, eyes flicking down to look at _something_ Adora can't quite work out. She takes a deep breath, steadies herself, and starts again. "I think I might know what you need." 

The hand on Adora's knee begins slowly sliding upwards, stopping at the hem of her dress before Adora swallows nervously and nods. Catra's hand keeps creeping up her thigh and she rests her head on Adoras shoulder, whispers in her ear: "You need to tell me, okay? If you don't like this, if it isn't what you want, if it is what you want but not right now or not right here, you need to let me know." She exhales shakily and it's hot and wet against Adora's skin. "Because if you say yes to me right now, I'm going to make you come for me right here on this rooftop." 

Adora lets her eyes slip shut, lets the low groan that's been building in her chest roll out her mouth, and adjusts her grip on the railing. _"Yes."_

And then Catra's _touching her,_ somewhere where she's barely ever even touched herself and _fuck_ everything and everyone else because this is _so_ much better, even just over her underwear Catra's fingers are driving her crazy.

And then they're not just over her underwear anymore.

Adora's whimpering, _whining_ because she's so far beyond words right now, beyond thought and reason and doubt and fear and _fuck,_ why has she ever spent a single fucking moment of her life without Catra there to make her feel like _this,_ like every cell in her body is being replaced with unrelenting, mounting pleasure. 

She can't control herself anymore. Her hips are moving of their own accord, her cries growing louder and louder until Catra slips two fingers on her free hand into her mouth and growls " _Quiet, princess."_ She can't stop her tongue from flicking out to toy with the tips of those fingers, can't stop the flood of wetness that's ruining Catra's leather glove, can't stop any of this from happening and _she doesn't want to._ She can feel herself approaching something, an edge, a boundary, and she wants to know what happens when she crosses it. Wants Catra to take her there.

Catra does, easily, and with a high, keening whine Adora feels herself dissolving into absolute ecstasy, her nerves firing at random and sending spasms throughout her body as she twitches in Catra's grasp, gasping for breath as stars burst behind her closed eyelids. Her mouth is full and she wouldn't have the muscle control to say it but her mind is screaming _Catra, Catra, Catra,_ a silent prayer of obeisance and gratitude to the goddess who brought her here. 

Somewhere between five seconds and several geological eras later she's slumping down against the railing and Catra is grabbing her, holding her up and guiding her to lean against an AC unit instead. Her lungs feel raw, cold air scraping against the inside of her throat as she tries to calm her breathing, vision still hazy and indistinct, thoughts scattered across a twelve mile radius and forced to try and hitchhike back home. 

She presses her face into Catra's shoulder, lets Catra take out her ponytail and toy with her hair as she struggles to remaster the concept of language. Catra sheds her jacket, slings it over Adora's shoulders to protect her from the cold. She likes it here, pressed against Catra's body, basking in her scent and her warmth. She wants to stay. 

Finally, when she's gathered together a small handful of her functioning brain cells, she murmurs: " _Wow."_

Catra snorts. "You dork," she whispers like it's the highest praise she can possibly imagine.

Adora pulls her head back, meets Catra's gaze. "Yeah, well you just fucked a dork. What does that make you?"

Catra's eyes are soft and full of honest affection. "The luckiest woman in the whole damn world." 

Adora giggles, actually _giggles_ like a little kid. She can't help it, there's a fountain of joy in her chest and it's overflowing, spilling out of her. "I don't want, I mean, I'd like it if…" The words are getting twisted up in her head, she feels so hazy, but this is _important_ so she musters all of her remaining focus and says, "I don't want this to just be for tonight." 

There's a long silence before Catra says, "What do you mean?" 

Here it goes. Now or never. "It means I wanna be your girlfriend." 

She can see the tension bleed out of Catra's shoulders, a sort of satisfied lassitude steal over her as a smile spreads across her face. "Okay." 

"That's it? Just, 'okay'?"

Catra shrugs. "I mean, I've been dreaming about you saying that since we were 13. Kind of used to it by now," she grins before adding, " _babe."_

Adora absolutely fails at hiding how happy that makes her. "Sounds like you got it pretty bad for me, _kitten."_

Catra raises an eyebrow. " _Kitten?"_

"Sorry is that, like— I didn't mean like—"

Catra shuts her up with a kiss on the forehead. "If anything, _you're_ the kitten here. After all," she smirks, "you're the one who was just _mewling_ for me." 

Adora buries her face in Catra's shoulder again to try and hide her blush. She's never felt this peculiar mix of embarrassment, happiness and, well, _arousal,_ before, but she already knows she wants more of it.

"I think I like the sound of that," she murmurs into Catra's shoulder. "Being your kitten."

She doesn't miss the sharp intake of breath above her at that, or the way Catra's hand briefly stills in her hair. Catra clears her throat and says, "Yeah, okay." 

Adora pulls back again, flicks her eyes up at Catra with a coy expression, suddenly _very_ aware of the power she has to get under Catra's skin like Catra so easily gets under hers. "Okay?" She asks, with an exaggerated air of innocence. 

Catra smiles and kisses her softly, slowly. "Anything for my kitten." 

* * *

Adora stumbles back into her dorm that night on shaky legs, honestly astonished that she was able to walk the two flights up to her and Glimmer's room. Catra's jacket is still hanging around her shoulders as she walks past Glimmer and collapses onto her bed. Glimmer's eyes lock onto her neck and she whistles.

"Guess I was wrong about you and Darius after all."

"Who?" Adora murmurs face down into her pillow.

Glimmer laughs. "Nevermind." 

* * *

Adora decides she's ready to face the assembled judgement of Game Night and makes her way out into the living room. Scorpia and Perfuma appearantly had to leave early, but everyone else watches her as she trudges towards the couch with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and sits down. Glimmer is looking at the floor and Bow elbows her.

"Uh, sorry Adora," she mutters, sounding absolutely wretched. 

"It's okay," Adora says, too exhausted to stay angry with her best friend. "You were just looking out for me." 

Adora curls up in a corner of the couch and watches as her friends play a few rounds of some card game she doesn't recognize. Despite how close to complete disaster tonight had come, she's still glad she came to game night.

The pieces from what Scorpia told her are beginning to come together in her head. She doesn't know what else Catra could possibly be fixated on, what might be convincing her that she was some kind of horrible monster. She knows Catra used to struggle with guilt because of her sadism and dominant desires but it's been _years,_ now. She doesn't understand what could have happened to make her do something so drastic, so _hurtful._

It's stupid, it really is, but now that she has some idea of what's going on in Catra's head right now, knows that Catra is scared and guilty and in _pain,_ all she wants to do is fix it. She wants to take the woman she loves, still loves, will never stop loving into her arms and hold her. Promise her they will find a way to work it out. She doesn't care if it means she stops being Catra's kitten, doesn't care if they give up on sex altogether. She wants Catra back, _needs_ Catra back with her not just for her own sake but Catra's too. Catra isn't happy like this. Neither of them are. 

It's not like Catra to just run away from her like this, to take all her problems inside until they tear her apart and make her do something stupid. Or rather, it's like the old Catra, when they first started dating, the skittish, scared Catra who was ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble, who was constantly terrified that her mother would find out about their relationship.

_Her mother…_

_She said she was a monster…_

Adora has her own fair share of maternal trauma, but her mother is in the ground and unless something truly miraculous has happened in the last few years, Shadow Weaver is still out there. Even though Catra cut her out of her life years ago when she demanded they break off their relationship "to protect Adora's virtue" (seriously what was _with_ that woman and her creepy fucking obsession with Adora's sex life?) Adora knows that fact still needles at Catra's mind, the idea that at any time Shadow Weaver might show up on their doorstep and take away everything she loves.

She knows better than most people that trauma isn't something that just goes away. Now that poison is still in her love's heart, probably always will be. But she thought they were doing _good,_ thought that Catra trusted her with those feelings, trusted her to help with them. She'd seen her girlfriend come so _far_ in the years they'd been together and she was so proud of her for that, but somehow in the week she'd been gone all of that progress had somehow… melted away.

Adora pulls the blanket tighter around her shoulders and buries her face in the warm fleece.

_What happened while I was away, Catra?_

_And why didn't you just talk to me?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading that as much as I did writing it! Next chapter it's back to suffering!
> 
> I spent so much time googling "boys names that start with d" for this chapter just for one running joke. Was it worth it? Absofuckinlutely it was.
> 
> Yes I made Spinarella reference Portrait of a Lady on Fire and Lord of the Rings in the same chapter. Legally you cannot prevent me from doing so.
> 
> Some of you might be thinking, does Adora see Spinarella as a mother figure or is she attracted to her? The answer is: yes and it's extremely confusing for her poor lesbian-with-mommy-issues brain


	8. Pathetic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some housekeeping notes to start off:
> 
> -I made some edits to some earlier chapters, specifically 7 and 3, adding a line in seven to make it clear that Scorpia and Perfuma left Game Night before Adora's conversation with Bow and Spinarella which makes this chapter make a lot more sense. In three I deleted a reference to Entrapta since I've decided how I want to include her in this fic later on and it no longer makes sense for Catra to know her at that point in time
> 
> -As of this chapter this fic is now longer than 30,000 words which is 1. Fucking insane and B. Appearantly "novella length" according to the internet. I point this out because despite this this whole fic is still written in one Google doc entitled "catradora phone sex angst"
> 
> -This one is just a request but I've noticed some people have been leaving comments that I'm sure are meant in good fun but are performatively angry or threatening in a way that makes me pretty uncomfortable. I get this is angst but please remember I am a stranger on the internet and there's no way for me to tell the tone of your comments
> 
> With that out of the way, enjoy this fucking beheamoth of a chapter. It's almost all smut, but a few content warnings still apply. THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS: a panic attack, discussion of domestic abuse, references to conversion therapy, and a gross insect related metaphors.
> 
> In addition the smut in this chapter is a bit more hardcore than prior ones. It involves rope bondage, prisoner/captor roleplay, impact play, crying, body writing, some degredation and humiliation that is mild by kink standards but still kind of A Lot especially in the emotional context of the fic. Of course all if is safe, sane, and consensual for both parties.

For the second time this week, Catra makes a circuit of the apartment, cataloguing possessions. This time she's stuffing them into a large duffel bag, trying to decide what she might need at Summer Camp For Psychopaths or whatever. It's mostly clothes, she figures toilet paper and toothpaste will probably be covered but she grabs some anyway. She pauses by the bedside table.

 _Would a dildo count as some kind of weapon?_

She's sure someone's going to answer that for her, there will be probably be a whole meeting where they cover what she can and can't bring. She should wait until after that to start packing but right now she's worried she's going to lose her nerve and she just needs to _do_ something. 

She needs to tell someone. She can't just up and vanish like she did when she was 15. Not that anybody really noticed back then.

She tosses the duffel bag onto the floor and collapses on the bed. She feels exhausted, absolutely drained of energy. She realizes this is the first time she's lain on this bed since she broke up with Adora. 

It's more comfortable than she remembers.

Guilt is gnawing at her _but hey, what else is new,_ and she finally decides that the awkwardness of interrupting Game Night is worth getting this conversation out of the way. She calls Scorpia.

Scorpia usually picks up on the first ring but tonight it's different. The phone rings two, three, four times before there's a click, a familiar voice saying "I gotta take this," and the sound of a door shutting. "Hey, Wildcat." 

"Hey Scorpia," Catra says, realizing this is the first word she's spoken aloud today that isn't to Shadow Weaver. "Uh, how's game night?"

She hears Scorpia inhale awkwardly and kicks herself. _How's game night?_ Dumb fucking question. _How's the first Game Night I haven't been at in almost a full year? What's it like hanging out with all the people I've let down? How much better is it without me?_

"It's uh. It's fine. How was your day?" Scorpia sounds upset. 

_Of course she does, you're the last person she wants to hear from right now. Can't you let her have one night out with her girlfriend and friends without dumping all your bullshit on her?_

"Fine," Catra lies. This next part is going to be… difficult. "I, uh, talked to my mom today." 

"You talked to _Shadow Weaver?"_

"Look, I know how that sounds—"

"Wildcat are you sure that's really a good idea right now?"

Deep breaths. "She's actually been… it's been weird. She's been nice to me. Really nice, actually," she wonders if the next part bears mentioning but she needs to say it out loud, to make sure another person knows it happened so that it doesn't just vanish from reality when she's not looking. 

"She told me she loves me." 

"Oh, Wildcat," Scorpia says. "I'm happy for you. I really am. I mean, you know how I feel about your mom but if she's really making an effort to make up for what she did… I'm glad to hear it."

"Uh, not exactly," Catra can already feel the beginnings of a headache gestating behind her eyeballs. "She's not really… apologizing. Or anything like that. She's kind of just, acting like it never happened. Like we've always had some kind of happy, loving mother/daughter thing going on. It's weird."

She can imagine Scorpia chewing on her lip worriedly in the pause that follows. "Well… you're the one she hurt, Wildcat. You're the only one who gets to decide whether you want to forgive her. I'm just worried that if she won't even say she's sorry… she might not have changed all that much."

"Don't you think I know what?" She snaps. "I am _not_ forgiving her. Not ever. It's just… she can help me. With everything that's going on right now."

"How is Shadow Weaver supposed to help with you breaking up with Adora?"

"You don't get it, Scorpia," Catra's crying, she doesn't know when she started crying, "I'm not a good person. I don't do good things. I _hurt_ people, all the time, everyone around me. Mo- Shadow Weaver can help me with that. She's paying for me to go to therapy, to help me learn how to stop hurting people."

Catra sniffs and it's loud and wet and she feels _pathetic,_ crying on the phone like this. "I need that Scorpia. I can't keep living like this." 

"...I'm proud of you, Wildcat."

_Okay, not what I expected to hear._

Scorpia forges ahead. "I think therapy can be good for anyone, and… you're clearly hurting a lot and feeling really confused right now. A good therapist can really help you sort all that out. I can talk to Perfuma, see who she knows that might be a good—"

"No," Catra says. And this, this is gonna be the _really_ hard part. "I'm not… she wants me to go to this place. Light and Purity Rehab, or whatever. Just… Get me away from everyone until I'm safe to be around."

There's a long silence.

"I… are you sure that's a good idea, Wildcat?" Scorpia's voice is low, shaking, she sounds _scared._ "You remember what happened with The Fri—"

" _Of course I fucking remember!_ Did you think I, I just forgot? About the worst fucking five months of my entire life?" Rage is boiling inside of her again and she seizes it, forces it back down. Muzzles the beast. "It's not like that. This isn't about skipping class or being gay or anything like that. This is about a real problem I have, that I need real, professional help with. I can't get that if I'm still out here, fucking things up every day with people." 

She curls into herself on the bed. When she speaks again, her voice sounds weak. "It's nothing like The— like _there_ , she said. She promised." 

Scorpia sighs. "Okay. Okay, yeah. I just… Shadow Weaver told you about this place?" Catra doesn't say anything. "Okay. Just, that's some pretty hardcore stuff, and I've never heard of this place before. Just, promise me you won't go until I have a chance to ask Perfuma about it? Just to make sure it's above board?"

That's… probably a good idea, actually. "Okay." 

"Promise?"

" _I promise."_

"Okay, okay, good. Great!" Scorpia's enthusiasm sounds completely faked. "For what it's worth, I really hope this place is on the up and up. You, you deserve to be happy, Catra. I want to see you happy again, someday."

_You deserve to be happy._

_You wouldn't say that if you knew._

"So, uh, how's Game Night?" Right. She already asked that. _Excellent conversational skills, Catra._ "Mermista running rampant without me there to stop her?"

That seems like way too innocent of a question to provoke as long a silence as it does.

"Forgive me for saying this Wildcat but, it's uh, probably a good thing you didn't come tonight."

_What?_

Obviously, Catra agrees, but it still kind of stings to hear it from Scorpia. _Get over yourself, Catra, of course nobody wants you around right now._

"I know that sounds bad, but, just, some stuff kinda came up. There was a lot of shouting and, uh… Okay, I'm just gonna come right out and say it."

Scorpia sucks in a deep breath as if readying herself for a feat of monumental strength.

"I need to ask you something. Kind of important. And I want you to know before I do that I don't really believe this, I don't _want_ to believe this and if you say 'no' I will take you at your word 100% and I will never bring it up again—"

"Scorpia, what are you—"

"Did you ever hit Adora?" 

* * *

"Looks like you're mine now, _Adora._ "

Adora might not be able to tell a lie to save her life but when it comes to _this,_ she's phenomenal. She straightens her back and her eyes flash down at Catra, simmering with defiant rage. "My _name_ is She-Ra." 

Despite what people who don't know her well assume, Catra hates being angry. There's some satisfaction in the way it burns low inside her, yes, but it's overwhelmed by the feeling of poison in her veins, the way her hands shake and her throat closes up and her eyes water. 

But Adora fighting back, spitting rage at her, _defying_ her like this doesn't make her angry. It's something else, something _better_ , all the warmth and satisfaction of anger but none of the misery. It's certainty. A presupposition of victory. It's raw, unfiltered power and it feels _incredible._

She yanks on the rope again, harder, and this time when Adora stumbles, Catra forces her to her knees with a hand on her shoulder. _Much better._

"Oh really? Because from what I've heard, _She-Ra_ is a mighty, unstoppable warrior, and all I see _here_ is a helpless prisoner who's met her match." 

She plants her foot on the small of Adora's back and applies just enough pressure to push Adora down until she's bent over on her knees with her face pressed against the soft carpet.

"And besides," she crows, "I think your real name is so much more suitable, don't you _Adora?_ That's what you are, after all." Catra steps off of her back, gives her a moment to straighten up halfway before grabbing her by the ponytail and hissing in her ear. "Helpless. Weak. _Adorable._ " 

She's tempted to nip at Adora's ear, to lean down further and sink her teeth into the soft, inviting flesh of her throat, but… not yet. This isn't about sex, right now. That comes later, when Adora starts to really fall apart for her. Right now, this is about showing Adora who's in charge.

Adora is stronger than Catra. It's just a fact of life, has been ever since they were teenagers and Catra grew up lean and sinewy and Adora filled out to ultimately become the broad-shouldered, musclebound Lesbian Adonis she is today. In a genuine contest of strength Catra would put money on her girlfriend every time. And she knows, too, that Adora's submission is wholly voluntary, not just because Catra physically can't make her do anything she doesn't want to, but because she would never, _never_ force something on Adora that she isn't absolutely sure she wants. 

But sometimes, still, Adora wants to _feel_ forced. She wants to feel like she didn't give it up too easily, like she fought as hard and as long as she could and just lost, fair and square, like she's being _conquered_. 

Catra's happy to provide. Seeing Adora beneath her, bound but surly and resistant at her feet, is utterly intoxicating. It's victory. Every game that people play, every sport or competition, is about this feeling, the thrill of _winning,_ of someone trying their hardest to be stronger, better than you and _failing_ because you fought harder, smarter, longer. This is what that desire looks like with all the ornamentation and veneer of respectability stripped away:

Catra standing tall, proud, domineering, and the object of her desire bound, kneeling at her feet and _helpless_ to do anything at all about it. 

Catra's spent almost her entire life looking over her shoulder, scrabbling to get a leg up over anyone she can, desperate to not be the one caught at the bottom of the pile when all's said and done. There have been so many people who thought they could hurt her, could take away the things she loved, _break_ her. Some of them, she proved wrong. 

Others, not so much.

But not here. Not _now._ Right now, Catra is invincible, there is nothing and no one in this world strong enough to hurt her. When she is kind, generous, it is because she _chooses_ to be, not because she's afraid of the consequences of doing otherwise 

She's not afraid of anything. 

And that's the one thing she doesn't often admit to herself. That, as much as she knows, _relies_ on the fact that Adora is getting just as drunk on losing as she is on winning, for once it isn't about _her._ The rush Catra feels right now has nothing to do with pleasing Adora and _everything_ to do with stroking her own ego. 

Right now she's so high on her own power that she can even admit how much the little tremble of fear in Adora's voice makes her body _sing_ when she stammers "Wh- what do you want with me?" 

_Everything. All of it. All of you._

_Mine._

"You haven't figured it out yet, _She-Ra?"_ Catra lets her voice drip with the condescension that she knows makes Adora wet. "If I wanted you out of commission, I could have had you killed. If I wanted intelligence, _well_ ," she flicks Adora's forehead tauntingly, "there are much better sources available to me." 

"So, what? Why are you doing this?" God, Adora is doing _so_ well. Playing her part to perfection, every bit the oblivious soldier. Adora knows how this ends. They both do. 

But getting there is half the fun.

Catra yanks Adora's head back by the ponytail, _hard,_ notes with satisfaction when she fails to stifle a whimper, and steps in front of Adora to look down, directly into her eyes. "I want _you,_ Adora. I've been keeping track, counting every time you've ever crossed me out there on the battlefield, and now that I have you in my grasp?" She slides a careful claw down the side of Adora's face. "I am going to _break_ you."

A little dramatic, maybe, but it has the desired effect. Adora's mask of resistance slips for a moment and she inhales sharply, her eyes going soft and _wanting._ She quickly forces herself back into character but it's too late. Catra saw. Adora is starting to fall, and Catra's going to guide her the rest of the way down.

She grabs the loose end of rope between Adora's wrists and pulls her upward to her feet. With a few quick movements she presses Adora's front to the pillar and secures the loose end of rope to the eye hook, leaving just the right amount of slack so that Adora has to stand slightly on her tiptoes to remain comfortably upright with her arms above her head. She takes a moment to whisper in Adora's ear and ask for her color, and when she receives the confirming "green" she presses a quick kiss to Adora's cheek before falling back into her militaristic persona. 

Catra retrieves the flogger from her bag, making sure to position herself so that Adora can just barely see her around the edge of the pillar, see the flogger's leather straps dangling from the handle, swaying gently as Catra stalks back across the room towards her prey. 

Catra stands behind Adora, close enough that she knows her girlfriend can feel her breath on the back of her neck, and gently places two fingers along the side of Adora's throat. 

"Your heart is racing, princess. Is the mighty She-Ra afraid of a little _pain?_ "

She can feel Adora's nervous swallow under her fingers. "N-no. Do your worst."

"Oh believe me, Adora, I _will._ " She draws her fingers back, making sure to let the tips of her claws gently scrape Adora's skin. "But, if it's not fear that's got you going, I wonder what it could be, hmm?" She laughs, low and throaty and arrogant. "What about being all tied up and about to be beaten by her _nemesis_ could make such a brave, brave, warrior so flustered? I wonder…" She takes one hand and presses the tips of all five claws against the back of Adora's neck.

"Maybe I'm just imagining how I'm going to defeat yoOOOUUUAAAA–" Catra _rakes_ her claws down Adora's back, shredding her jacket and the thin shirt underneath, exposing the broad canvas of her back. She runs her claws down the same course again and they catch on the band of Adora's bra. Catra toys with the hooks. "Don't," Adora says in an attempt at a firm tone. It doesn't work.

"Don't what?" 

Adora grits her teeth. "Don't… don't take it off."

Catra presses herself against Adora's nearly-bare back and rests her head on Adora's shoulder. "Why not?" She lowers her voice to a rough whisper. "Are you worried about what might happen if you let me touch you?" 

"I, I," Adora takes a moment to bring her voice back under control. "I'm not _letting_ you do anything. I'm a prisoner, remember?" 

Catra gives her a quick scratch on her left shoulder and Adora yelps. " _My_ prisoner. But you make a good point." She grins, not that Adora can see it, but trusting her girlfriend to hear it in her voice as she says, "Tell you what, Adora. If you really want to _preserve your modesty_ that badly, all you have to do is say 'pretty please Force Captain Catra, don't strip me.' Do that for me, in your best, most polite voice, and I'll leave your bra alone. Deal?" 

Adora seems like she's considering it, weighing how badly she wants Catra to have access to her tits against how good it would feel to start begging, and whether it's too early to give in. Finally, after a few moments she musters her bravado and spits out " _Fuck. You._ " 

Catra laughs again. "God, you are just too cute. Well, looks like you've made your choice then." With a few precise sweeps of her claws, Catra rips through the band and both straps and lets Adora's bra tumble to the floor in tatters. She resists the temptation to slide her hands around to Adora's front and cup those delicious breasts. All in due time. 

Right now, she's got to make good on her promise. 

She pulls the flogger from her where it's tucked into her belt and adjusts her grip on the handle. It's one of their larger ones, a long sturdy wooden handle with wide, thick leather straps. It's not really made to cause intense pain, Catra knows (she never uses anything on Adora that she can't take at least a few hits from herself). The sensation is more of a heavy, thudding impact, only stinging or threatening to leave small cuts if a misplaced stroke allows the straps to wrap around the curve of Adora's back and snap into the skin on her sides or the tops of her shoulders, which can be fun in its own way. But only on purpose. 

Always on purpose. 

Catra's _good_ at this, she has to be, wouldn't let herself do it if she wasn't. She only has Adora practice on, true, but there are resources out there for those who know how to look for them. Adora once came home to find her watching some porn with an intense flogging scene on their television in the living room, paying close attention to the right stance, the right movements, and most embarrassingly of all, _taking notes_ on a yellow legal pad _._ She has yet to live that one down. 

It's worth it though, _of course_ it's worth it, because it means she can do _this_ to Adora with complete confidence that her girlfriend will be safe the entire time. Catra starts moving the flogger in a wide figure-8 pattern, slowly and softly at first, with each stroke little more than a gentle caress of the leather on Adora's skin. Mapping out where she'll make contact when she hits with more force. Across each side of the upper back, staying clear of the spine and never further down near the soft lower back and the kidneys.

"Here's how this is going to work, princess," she says, watching the muscles of Adora's back relax with each soothing pass of the flogger. "I've been keeping a tally of every time we've fought." With a quick roll of her shoulder she increases the speed of her next stroke, relishing the heavy sound of the leather striking Adora's skin, and relishing even more her yelp of surprise that quickly melts into a sigh. "Every time you've _interfered,_ " she says with another impact. "Every injury you've inflicted on my soldiers." She pauses and leans forward, pressing herself against the reddened, tender but not yet bruised skin of Adora's back and wraps her left hand carefully around her throat. "I'm going to take _all_ of it out on you." She steps back, loosens her shoulder and gets back to work, each stroke landing harder now with a satisfying _whack_ that has Adora groaning. "Only _then,_ when you've been suitably punished, will you be permitted to defect to the Horde." 

"I would _never_ defect to the–" Catra silences She-Ra's defiant protest with another stroke, this one _hard,_ and she notes with satisfaction the bright, spotted red blooming under Adora's skin, a telltale sign that spot will soon be painted with a lovely dark bruise. 

Catra chuckles. "Oh, believe me, princess, by the time I'm through with you, you're going to be _begging–_ " another stroke, this one prompting an undeniably sexual moan "–for me to make you into my perfect little subordinate." 

She unleashes a flurry of hard, fast, but _controlled_ hits, letting the twin rushes of arousal and power wash over her as Adora's noises turn increasingly needy and unashamed. By time she's finished Adora's skin is a lovely tapestry of deepening reds, with some of the earliest hits now close to purple. She's panting, her breath heaving with exertion and _desire_ because God, Adora is _squirming_ now, trying her best not to grind herself against the pillar and just _barely_ succeeding. 

Catra tucks the flogger back into her belt and steps forward, wrapping herself around Adora from behind. "There, there, kitten, that wasn't so bad was it? Now you're forgiven. We can start over, with a clean slate. Won't that be nice?" She holds Adora for a moment longer before stepping back and sliding her hands up her back, pressing gently on the tender skin, before reaching up and undoing the knots securing Adora's wrists to the eye bolt.

Adora's legs give out but Catra's ready, catches her and lowers her gently to the floor. Adora settles on her knees and Catra tilts her head up to finally get a good look at her face.

Adora's been crying. Not from the pain, Catra knows, her kitten has a truly impressive pain tolerance and a short session with a flogger wouldn't even come close. No, she's learned from long, enjoyable, experience that what makes Adora cry during their scenes is _intensity_. The way the sensations build on top of one another, unrelenting, until it drives every thought out of her mind and she becomes so thoroughly overwhelmed she can't hold back the tears. Truthfully it scared the _hell_ out of Catra the first time it happened but after several long discussions she eventually came to understand a little bit of what goes on inside Adora's head.

So much of how her girlfriend's bizarre, beautiful brain works is still a mystery to Catra, but she covets every scrap of knowledge she acquires, hoards them like a jealous dragon guarding a mountain of gold. There's always more, more secrets to uncover, more details to observe and commit to memory. She never stops learning about Adora. She never wants to.

The mascara Catra applied earlier has done its job admirably and Adora's face is streaked with it, the dark smudges running from her eyes making her look truly pitiful. Catra reaches out and strokes Adora's cheek with her thumb, smearing the dark makeup across a flushed cheek. God, what a beautiful mess she's made. 

Adora sniffles— _oh my God, she is so fucking cute, I love her so much_ —and looks up Catra. There's no defiance left in those eyes, no anger, no resistance. Just _need_. Arousal, yes, but much more than that the need to submit, the unending desire to be _good,_ to follow instructions and be praised for her obedience.

Catra cups the side of her face, holds it gently but firmly with her claws extended. "I'm going to untie your wrists now. Are you going to struggle?" Adora does her best to shake her head in Catra's grip. "You're not going to fight me anymore?" Another half shake. "You're going to be good for me?" Adora's wide, pleading eyes are _begging_ Catra to believe her, to accept the absolute sincerity of her submission as she nods.

Catra undoes the double column tie securing Adora's wrists, slowly, coils the rope and sets it aside before gently massaging Adora's wrists. "There we go, kitten. Now," she says, brushing a stray lock of hair out of her prisoner's face, "are you ready to be a good little Horde soldier for me?" 

Adora glances down and away, apparently uncertain. Force Captain Catra is enraged, but Adora's girlfriend thrills at the signal to carry the game on just a little longer, push her just a little harder until she tumbles over the edge and freefalls into complete obedience. 

"Oh, Adora. Sweet, simple Adora. Aren't you tired of playing the hero?" Catra cuts through her girlfriends hair tie with a single claw, watches the golden locks slip out of her ponytail and cascade down around her shoulders. For someone who wears it up almost exclusively, Adora takes surprisingly good care of her hair. It's soft, sleek under Catra's fingers as she plays with it, tugging ever so gently and watching Adora's eyes flutter at the sensation. "You and I both know you weren't made for this. To be a leader. Over in your sad little rebellion you're top dog, aren't you? The strongest, smartest, the most decisive. Always coming up with the plans, always calling the shots, always leading the charge into battle. There's no place for you there, not like here." She gently scrapes the tips of her claws against Adora's scalp, scratching until her girlfriend goes almost completely limp in her grasp. "Here in the Horde, we understand soldiers like you. A good soldier needs a commander, needs _orders_ to carry out. You have so much _loyalty_ in your heart, Adora, so much _devotion_ , but you can't let any of it out when you always have to be the one in charge."

Adora sighs, softly, and Catra knows she's falling apart now. The last vestiges of She-Ra's resolve are crumbling away into sweet, dark oblivion, if Adora still remembers she's supposed to be playing a character at all. "All you have to do is ask, Adora. Just ask and I'll let you be my new lieutenant. Always at my side, ready to carry out my orders at a moment's notice. Doesn't that sound nice?" She can see that Adora is stopping herself from nodding, fingers scrabbling at the edge of the cliff, just barely clinging to some shreds of resistance.

Time to break her.

"Or, maybe you're tired of fighting at all. Maybe I was wrong, and you're not a _soldier_. You want to follow orders, yes, want to be _obedient_ , but you're not really a fighter, not at heart. Maybe," Catra muses, as she reaches into her jacket pocket and produces her _coup de grâce,_ "you're just a _pet._ " 

Adora's eyes flick open and she gasps as she sees her collar dangling from Catra's fingers.

Catra lets it sway gently, watching the way Adora's eyes follow it, the way she's so clearly _hungry_ for what it represents, what Catra's offering. "I won a major victory when I captured you today. Right now I can pretty much get away with whatever I want around here. I don't think anyone would begrudge me keeping such a sweet girl all to myself, do you?" Adora doesn't respond. She looks beyond speech right now, her eyes wide and staring and _wanting._

"You have to ask me, kitten. If you want to wear this collar, to be my little pet rebel, you have to beg me for it." That finally registers with Adora and she turns her face upward to look at Catra. She looks so beautifully _lost_ right now, and Catra knows she must be feeling so hazy with pleasure that at this point it might take her minutes to manage a full sentence.

She can wait. It'll be worth it.

"Catra…"

" _Force Captain_ Catra,"

"Force Captain Catra," Adora repeats dutifully. "I… I want it. Please." They both know that isn't nearly good enough, and Catra simply waits for Adora to continue. She doesn't get to keep her dignity right now, not if she's going to get what she wants. "I want to be your pet," she whispers, voice choked with shame and desire. "I just want to do what I'm told, to be good for you." Catra keeps her face carefully impassive, disapproving, and she can see desperation start to catch at the edges of Adora's gaze, like she's starting to realize that Catra might not give her what she needs, might refuse to take her, leave her alone and uncommanded and without guidance. " _Please,_ " she says, voice bordering on a sob, "I just want to please you…" 

Catra's there, hands stroking gently across her face, lips pressing against the crown of her head, voice gentle and filled with pride. "Good, good girl Adora," she murmurs. She steps back slightly, takes Adora's trembling hands in her own. "Hold up your hair for me?" Adora nods, furiously, and gathers up her hair. Catra steps behind her, loops the white leather around her neck, pauses before she buckles the collar into place. 

"You'll give up your ideals just for the chance to serve me? Your precious rebellion, your desire for _freedom,_ your friends and allies… you'll betray them, throw all of it away, just for the chance to kneel at my feet and obey?" 

Adora has no shame left now. She is truly, thoroughly _broken._ " _Yes,_ " she breathes, "just to be yours…" 

Catra fastens the collar and moves Adora's hands out of her hair, letting it fall back down and ripple across her neck, gold kissing white. " _Mine,_ " she says, with finality. 

Catra hooks a finger under the collar and stands, pulling Adora along with her over to the couch. She sits, Adora kneeling on the floor at her feet, and strokes her soft, golden hair in silence for a while. "Color?" She asks softly, and it takes Adora a moment to respond. 

"Green," she whispers, nuzzling Catra's leg. 

"That's my girl," Catra whispers. "I'll be right back, okay?" 

Adora whimpers slightly as Catra stands and walks away from her, but stays put. Catra walks to the kitchen, trying to focus and calm herself enough to figure out what to do next, where to go from here. She fills a glass with water, drains it, then fills it again, setting it on the counter. She rifles through her bag, cataloguing what's available to her. Her confidence is starting to fade because this needs to be _perfect._ She's executed the first half of Adora's fantasy but, what now? 

_Humiliate me. Degrade me. Show me what a needy slut I am for you._

Catra's fingers brush against the eyeliner pen in her bag, and an idea begins to form. She tucks it into her pocket and carries the glass of water back over to the couch, crouches down and helps Adora drink it. She places the empty glass on the end table by the couch, and sits back down, Adora immediately leaning against her leg once more, hungry for the contact. 

"Time out on the roleplay for a second, babe," she says, and Adora cranes her head to look at her. Catra smiles. "There's my angel," she whispers. "How fuzzy are you feeling right now?" 

Adora takes a moment to consider the question. "7 out of 10, maybe? Everything feels kind of… slow, but I can still focus when I need to." She grins teasingly. "Could be fuzzier." 

Catra chuckles, running her hand through Adora's hair, petting her. "I had an idea for something to humiliate you and I wanted to get your input on it." She's careful to phrase it that way. _Input._ In reality, Adora's veto or even mild disapproval would be absolute, unquestionable. But Catra doesn't want to pull her entirely out of her submissive headspace right now, not when she's worked so hard to establish it, so Adora gets _input._ A chance to share her opinion, but the final decision is still Catra's. "I want to try writing on you. Nothing permanent, we can wipe it all off by the end of the night, but I want to… label you. Make it clear what you are." 

She watches the small shudder of pleasure roll through Adora, and when her eyes open again they're full of anticipation. "And what am I?" She asks, knowing full well the answer. 

Catra smiles indulgently and gives her hair a gentle tug. "You're a Force Captain's little pet slut, of course. But that might be a little long to write, so I was thinking just 'slut' would get the point across." 

"God that sounds… really hot." Catra can see her girlfriend subtly rubbing her thighs together at the thought. 

"Okay, I'm gonna start the scene again now. Think you get back into character for me?"

"Are you asking if I can be your helpless, needy pet?" Adora asks, piling on the fake innocence. "Yeah, I think I can manage that." 

Catra slides her hand into Adora's hair near the roots and curls it into a tight fist, tipping her head back. "Not _just_ my pet. My _conquest_. My desperate little prisoner who would rather betray her cause then give up the chance to get fucked like the slut she is." 

Adora whines, as much from Catra's words as the fist in her hair. " _Yes._ " 

Catra slides back into her own role, regarding the woman at her feet. Not her girlfriend, not right now, but her prisoner. Her enemy, defeated in every possible way. Hers for the taking. 

"I think we need to make sure that _everyone_ knows about your new… position, pet. We wouldn't want anyone mistaking you for She-Ra anymore, now would we?" She rises from the couch slowly, towering over her captive. "Everyone in the Horde needs to know that you're not a threat, that you're too weak, too needy to fight back anymore. Maybe, if they've earned the privilege, I can give them a practical demonstration of your new role…" she watches Adora's eyes widen at that. Adora's always had a fantasy of being _shared,_ loaned out by Catra like an object. It's never going to happen, they both know, both because there's no one they'd feel comfortable doing that with and because Catra is _far_ too possessive and protective to stomach someone else touching her. Mentioning it never fails to make Adora _drip,_ though, and Catra always enjoys teasing her girl. "But for the others… they need a way to know at a glance _exactly_ what you are." 

Catra produces the eyeliner pencil and uncaps it, crouching down once more. "Hold still." She puts a little flourish into her script, not so much as to not be easily legible but slightly elegant as she scrawls the word "SLUT" across Adora's chest, her girlfriend trying her best not to shiver when the pencil touches her breasts. Catra steps back to admire her work, satisfied with her penmanship. There's something undeniably sensuous in the curve of each letter, or maybe she's just imagining that because of how, just below them, Adora's breasts are drawing her attention. She's honestly impressed with her own self-control, having ignored them for so long. No longer. 

She places her hands on Adora's shoulders and pushes her down onto her back on the soft carpet, straddling her. She scrapes her claws up from the waistband of Adora's pants— _those are going to have to go soon_ —and across her stomach, moving upwards agonizingly slowly to finally cup Adora's breasts from below. Adora gasps at the touch and whimpers something that might be a " _please_ " but might also just be an involuntary noise. Catra squeezes gently, luxuriating in the way the soft flesh gives under her fingers, the way they fill up her hands so neatly, the urgent stiffness of Adora's nipples against her palms revealing just how thoroughly all of this has affected her. 

"Oh, poor, girl, you've been waiting so _patiently_ to be touched here, haven't you?" Adora whimpers in response, arching her back upwards to press her tits harder against Catra's hands. She's desperate, wanting, Catra has built her up so much that every touch feels like the cruelest tease right now when all she needs is to come.

Well, too bad. Catra's not done toying with her yet.

Kneading comes naturally to her, and Adora is more than okay with the pinpricks of sharp pain when her claws flex in and out as she slowly massages her lover's perfect breasts. Adora's all muscle pretty much all over, but not here. Here she's so _soft,_ so _giving,_ and Catra can't get enough of it. Beyond that, it's just _fun_ to play with Adora's breasts like this, squeezing them, occasionally grazing a thumb over her nipples, enjoying the symphony of small, needy noises she produces in response. 

Catra takes one of her hands away and leans down, dragging her rough tongue across Adora's nipple at the same time she rolls her hips _hard,_ pressing herself against Adora's crotch. She's rewarded for her efforts with an absolutely delicious moan and a gasped " _Catra,_ " but she pulls back immediately, standing up and hauling Adora back up to her knees by the collar. 

Adora looks dazed, confused, strands of hair sticking to the swear on her forehead, chest heaving. Catra sits down on the couch and grabs her by the hair, pulling her head between her legs. "You said you wanted to please me, didn't you? Here's your chance. Show your captain what a good pet you can be." 

Adora pauses with her hands on the button of Catra's trousers, looks up to ask permission first. Catra smiles encouragingly. Adora gets so sweet, so _timid_ when she's doing this, nervous that she somehow won't be good enough for Catra despite years of evidence to the contrary. 

Reassured, Adora unbuttons the trousers and slides them down. Before she can do the same with Catra's boyshorts, Catra grabs her roughly by the hair and pulls her in, pressing Adora's face into the damp fabric.

Adora groans, breathing deep and tongue darting out to lick at the soaked cotton. It's not like Catra doesn't enjoy eating out her girlfriend, in fact she generally considers Adora to be one of her very favorite foods, but Adora's love of giving her head is on a whole other level. 

Catra thinks it has something to do with the service-oriented nature of the task, but Adora insists it's because of the taste. Catra's tasted herself before, on Adora's lips and fingers, and never found it to be anything special but her girlfriend goes _crazy_ for it. If Catra fingers herself in front of Adora and doesn't let her girlfriend lick her fingers clean afterwards she makes a pouty face like she's just been told she isn't getting dessert for a month. On many nights when Catra lacks the energy for sex Adora will ask her if she can just lay down and rest and spend a few hours between her legs, indulging in her favorite pasttime. It's very rare that Catra says no. 

Catra releases her grip on Adora's head and she immediately clutches at Catra's thighs, digging her blunt nails in before scrambling upwards and yanking down Catra's underwear and finally gaining access to her girlfriend's cunt.

The first touch of Adora's tongue is desperate, sloppy. She starts by pressing her whole face into Catra's warmth, nose brushing against Catra's clit and licking a long stripe across the length of her vulva. After a few moments of frantic self indulgence, she settles down and begins working on the task of making her girlfriend come. 

Adora is _so_ good at this, unsurprising given the time and effort she's spent practicing. When given the chance to be an active participant, Adora approaches sex the way she approaches every challenge in life. Complete focus and dedication. The same intensity she exhibits on the field applies here and her movements are precise, coordinated. _Goal-oriented._

Adora is _so_ good at this but precise and controlled is not what Catra wants right now. She grabs another fistful of Adora's hair to hold her head in place as she begins rocking her hips forward, grinding messily against her girlfriends lips, nose, and tongue, using her face to get off. 

It doesn't take long, Catra has practically been teasing herself all night seeing Adora sink into submission for her. She knows that pair of boyshorts will need to be retired after this and her clit is almost _painfully_ hard. She tries to keep herself silent, preserve the aura or authority she's cultivated, but can't keep herself from moaning out " _Adora"_ when she reaches the edge, soaking Adora's face with her come. 

Catra gives herself a moment to catch her breath and opens her eyes again. Adora is staring up at her, eyes glowing with fulfillment and awe, overjoyed at the fact that she just made her girlfriend come. She's always been like this, ever since their second time together and the first time Catra had let her touch her; she treats Catra's orgasms like some kind of divine miracle, and takes enormous pride in her ability to provoke them. 

Catra can't hold back her praise when Adora looks at her like _that._ " _Good girl,_ " she murmurs, stroking Adora's hair. "You did such a good job. Such a good, obedient pet for me." 

Adora preens, nuzzling against the hand petting her. They stay like that for a few moments as Catra regains control of herself, Adora basking in her owner's touch and the satisfaction of a job well done. 

Finally, Catra pushes Adora's head away and takes a look at the mess she's made. Her girlfriend's pupils are wide, face streaked with tears and smeared with Catra's come. The writing on her chest rises and falls with every breath, completing the portrait of a woman absolutely debased and _ruined,_ happily reduced to a toy for the fulfillment of Catra's desires. 

_Absolutely beautiful._

"Hmm…" Catra ponders aloud. "I don't think exposing you for the filthy slut you are to the Horde is sufficient. We need to let your rebel friends know what's become of you, too, don't we? Otherwise they might start thinking all sorts of horrible things may have happened to you, if they don't know you're safe and happily occupied as my toy." 

Adora tilts her head, confused, until Catra stands up and grabs her phone, opening the camera app. She taps a spot on the floor with her foot, a patch of carpet where the evening light is spilling through the windows and onto the floor. "Kneel here, facing me, and cup your tits for me." Adora crawls over and does as she's told. Once she's been forced to her knees she almost never stands back up of her own volition, even to move around. It's cute, really.

Catra fusses with her girlfriend's hair a little bit, trying to preserve it's messy, disheveled appearance while keeping it out of Adora's face. Once she's satisfied she steps back, carefully framing the picture. "Try and look a little more defeated," she instructs. "I want them to know just how _badly_ I've broken you." 

Adora does her best to comply but Catra knows her head must be so foggy right now that any kind of abstract or complex task is virtually impossible. Her expression is absolutely beautiful, regardless, and Catra takes a few different shots. She's by no means a photographer but she's taking a class in it for her fine arts requirement, and she does her best to try and do justice to her subject. " _Fuck,_ Adora, you look so fucking pathetic right now. Just a broken, used slut for me." She's supposed to be trying to degrade her, but the insults turn sweet in her mouth. After all, she _wants_ Adora to be pathetic, to be broken and used. She made her this way and she can't suppress the note of pride in her voice at how well Adora's gone along with all of it.

The image she manages to capture of Adora, absolutely wrecked and submitting so _completely,_ half bathed in the golden light from the window, takes her breath away. She's never taken a picture of Adora like this before, but the way it fits into the fantasy is just so perfect, and she can't deny she's going to need it to get her through Adora's upcoming absence. She texts it to Adora, too, knowing she'll want to see what Catra was able to reduce her to, and puts her phone down. She shrugs out of her jacket, unbuttoning her own shirt as she makes her way back to Adora and leans down to kiss her. It's tender, now, and full of affection. "Good girl," she repeats. "Let's get you cleaned up and I'll give you your reward." 

Adora nods absently as Catra takes her by the hand and helps her stand up, helping her out of her pants before leading her back to the bedroom. She lays Adora out on the bed, kissing her again, before grabbing a warm washcloth from the bathroom and wiping her down, cleaning off the sweat and the makeup and the sticky remains of Catra's orgasm. Adora's just going to get dirty again of course, but Catra wants to pamper her a little. She deserves it. "You've been so good for me tonight, kitten," she whispers as she finishes wiping off the last of the eyeliner writing. "Tell me what you want." 

Adora looks at her with those big blue eyes and all of a sudden Catra can't breathe, can't think, and above all can't look away. Right now, Adora could ask for anything, absolutely _anything,_ and she'd be unable to deny it to her. She's powerless to give anything less than her whole heart to this woman. Catra is uncomfortably aware that while Adora may have been the one getting flogged earlier, without a doubt _she_ is the one who is utterly, hopelessly whipped.

It doesn't matter though, because Adora is _perfect_ and has never asked her for anything she's not happy to give, and tonight is no different. "Take me?" Adora whispers. Catra could point that she's pretty sure Adora's been thoroughly taken already, but she knows what her girlfriend means. What she wants. 

"Of course, angel," she replies, bending down to give her a kiss before she opens the bedside table and retrieves a bottle of lube, Adora's favorite dildo, and a leather harness. It takes her a moment to arrange everything to her satisfaction, including an awkward misstep that almost has her falling flat on her ass. Once, a very long time ago, hearing Adora laugh at her after she did something clumsy or stupid would have sent her into a spitting rage. Now when her misstep is met with a soft, musical laugh from their shared bed, she just smiles. 

She steps back towards the bed, ready to stretch out on top of her girlfriend, but is met by Adora crawling to the edge of the bed to meet her on her hands and knees. She reaches out and wraps one perfect hand around the base of the strap-on and looks up at Catra from under her blonde eyelashes. "Can I?" She asks, and Catra laughs and rolls her eyes.

"Knock yourself out, weirdo," she snarks as Adora takes the silicone toy into her mouth, sucking on it like it can somehow provide Catra with some sensation. This is one thing her girlfriend is into that Catra just does not get. Adora has a bit of an oral fixation but her insistence on deep-throating Catra's strap-on before getting fucked with it seems silly to her. It's harmless, though, and she has to admit it's isn't _not_ hot, watching Adora's lips wrapped around her cock (when did she start thinking about it like that?), head bobbing up and down. It's a little embarrassing, enjoying it this much, and she can't handle it for long without becoming flustered so she pulls Adora off her cock by the hair, ignoring the way she whimpers at the loss and shoving down the temptation to let her continue. _God, Catra, can you just be normal for like, five seconds?_

She guides Adora down onto her back and lays on top of her. This is by far her favorite position to use with a strap-on, being able to watch Adora's face while she gets fucked is a privilege she refuses to forego. Unsurprisingly Adora is already soaking wet but she uses a generous coating of lube anyway before guiding her cock inside, slowly, watching the way Adora's eyes flutter closed and her mouth falls open as she's filled up, one inch at a time. 

In line with the fantasy they've been indulging in she considers fucking Adora fast and mercilessly, but can't bring herself to do it. She's glad Adora seems to have abandoned the idea of roleplay as well right now, because Catra is simply incapable of fucking Adora without loving her, too. She can't help but make it obvious, in the careful attention she pays to every sound, the way she can't stop touching Adora anywhere and everywhere she can reach, the way she pushes slow and _deep_ inside her, over and over again. 

The way she kisses Adora, firm but tender, as if to say _let me in. Let me be closer to you, closer than the boundaries of our bodies. Let me inside, so I can show you how I love you there, too. All of you, every part of you, is beautiful to me._

She tries to say some of it with words, too. She feels hopelessly ineloquent, every compliment seeming too mundane, too prosaic for the depth of feeling she's carrying inside her. She wants to bring that love, that unfettered adoration out of her heart, try to push it under Adora's skin, make it stick to her bones and keep her warm on the cold nights they'll be spending apart. 

It's only going to be a week but god, Catra is going to miss her _so much._

She keeps fucking her, slow, deep, _thoroughly,_ through one orgasm after another, until Adora's limbs are shaking and there's fresh tears in her eyes from the overstimulation. 

Catra's not sure when it started, but she's crying too. 

She goes through the motions, after, makes sure Adora eats something and drinks some more water, rubs ointment on her back to try and keep some of the bruising under control. She wraps herself around Adora in bed, tucking her head under Adora's chin and staying there, trying to keep her tears down as Adora drifts off to sleep.

Catra doesn't sleep. There's something dark and heavy settling in her stomach, an unspeakable dread that's overtaking her. She tenses, trying to keep her body from shaking and risking waking up Adora, who has an early flight tomorrow. 

_How many times did I call her pathetic? How many times did I mean it?_

_Adora asked me to. She wanted me to. I did everything right, I gave her safewords. I checked in. I made sure she was safe. I saw how happy this made her, how much she enjoyed it._

_Why do I feel like I did something wrong?_

_It's just drop,_ she tells herself. She's read about it before, how coming down from the endorphin high of power exchange can leave you feeling hollow, empty, sick inside. That's what aftercare is for, to help both parties through the drop if and when they need it. 

But Adora's already asleep, eyes closed and snoring loudly. Intellectually Catra knows she could wake her up, has every right to, but… Adora's got an early flight tomorrow. And besides, _she's_ not the one who spent the last several hours getting treated like an animal, getting called all sorts of horrible names by the person who's supposed to love her unconditionally. 

She looks at Adora's sleeping form, soft and indistinct in the moonlight. Angelic. Beautiful, as always. _Perfect._ Was she really thinking about proposing to this woman? This impossible, incredible person? Adora deserves someone who can give her everything, who will worship her like the goddess she is, someone with a whole heart and a clear conscience who can commit to an entire lifetime of happiness with her.

Not this. Not Catra. Not broken-hearted, broken-down _Catra,_ Catra who will always carry a Shadow with her wherever she goes, threatening to snuff out the light of anyone who comes near her. 

She hasn't told Adora about what happened, why she spent their high school years avoiding her, angry with her, how she got that haircut Adora has not-so-subtly hinted she'd like to see her try out again someday. She thought maybe, if she didn't let Adora know, she could keep her safe from it. From the cancer inside her, the memories that invade her cells and threaten to choke her veins with pain and fear and guilt. But it hasn't gone away, never will go away, she realizes. It's going to stay with her, a piece of her past that she can't get away from. 

She doesn't tell Adora about the dreams, not the ones about the people and things from that place or the newer ones, the ones where some horrible, insectoid parasite hatches out of her mouth as she's sleeping and burrows its way into Adora's chest, digging into the soft flesh of her heart and making a nest there. Poisoning her, draining the blood from her body and the life from her eyes, until she's hollow, dry and cracked and dead inside. 

Just like her.

* * *

Catra is still awake when Adora's alarm goes off in the morning. Eventually she gave up on the concept of sleeping all together and busied herself with double checking that Adora didn't forget to pack anything important for her conference. She brews some coffee and makes breakfast, greets Adora with a smile and a kiss, exchanges a handful of words with her between mouthfuls before she leaves for the airport. 

And then Catra is alone.

* * *

**Catra (4:32 PM):** Hey, Adora.

 **Adora (4:46 PM):** hi babe

 **Catra (4:46 PM):** How's Dork Prom?

 **Adora (4:47 PM):** its great theres so much incredible research being presented here

 **Adora (4:48 PM):** wont bore u with the details

 **Catra (4:48 PM):** You can bore me anytime, princess. 

**Catra (4:49 PM):** Do you wanna call? You can tell me about the cool rock facts.

 **Adora (4:52 PM):** sorry babe, got invited out for dinner by a vulcanologist whos research i wanna ask some q's about

 **Adora (4:53 PM):** rain check?

 **Catra (4:55 PM):** Yeah. Have fun at dinner. 

**Catra (5:01 PM):** I miss you.

Catra puts down her phone and rubs her eyes. Adora's been gone for just two days and she's _not_ handling it well. She misses the sound of her voice, misses her touch, her smile. Just. _Misses_ her, more than she has any right to. She considers pulling up some old photos of Adora to look through like she would when she was a dumb, pining idiot before they got together in college, but stops herself when she remembers what the latest image in her Adora folder is.

Her reaction to that photo has been… less positive than she assumed it would be when she took it. She's feeling better after her panic attack the night before Adora left, recognizes how much of that was probably just the combination of coming off an endorphin high at the same time her girlfriend was about to leave town, but looking at the picture of Adora with tears running down her face and… everything else still sends a wave of guilt and nausea crashing over her. She resolves to talk this over with Adora when she gets back, get some much-needed reassurance about that evening, maybe find some kind of middle ground with humiliation play that doesn't leave her feeling like… this, afterward. 

She wishes Adora would come home sooner. 

Her phone buzzes and she snaps it up quickly, hoping for another text from Adora, but it's from an unknown number. She unlocks her phone and stares in horror as she sees the attached image. Her girlfriend, half naked and wretched-looking and wearing the word "SLUT" on her chest like a mark of shame, stares back at her. A moment later the unknown number sends a second text.

**Unknown (5:26 PM):** We need to talk.--SW

* * *

"Wildcat?" Scorpia asks, on the other end of the line. "Did the call drop? Are you still there?"

Catra hangs up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus fucking Christ this one was so hard to write. I actually commented that it was gonna be done yesterday, whoops, that turned out to be a lie lol. It just kept getting longer and longer every time I went back to work on it. I am never writing this much uninterrupted smut in a row ever again, by the time I finished this I could. No longer tell what was or was not sexy or even if I was entirely certain what sex was anymore.
> 
> It's worth it though because we're heading into (probably) another three Catra POV chapters in a row that are all gonna have the most difficult content yet with pretty much zero smut to help it go down. Once we make it through that though? It's all uphill from there, baby.
> 
> Also as I'm sure many of you are aware, ao3's rich text editor is weird and has a conniption if you paste in anything that has italics adjacent to a character other than a space, and having to go through and manually correct that before posting makes me painfully aware of how much I overuse them. I'm just a control freak who wants to make sure people read my sentences with the emphasis on the words _I_ choose.


	9. We Need To Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, housekeeping! First off as I'm sure you've all noticed, I changed the title of the fic! _Siren_ made more sense when it was just a one shot about Adora craving Catra's voice and now it's... Well it's a lot more than that. The next couple chapters should make the significance of the new title pretty clear.
> 
> I also added chapter titles, because idk I felt like. I also it means I can tease y'all with the upcoming chapter titles in the end notes >:3
> 
> Speaking of chapters, you might notice that chapter count looks a bit small for how much we have left to cover, and that's because I decided to split this fic up into a multific series. The end of this represents the point where the most upsetting and triggering content will be over with so people who want just a lot of smut and fluff about What Comes Next can hop in afterwards.
> 
> Speaking of upsetting and triggering content... This chapter has a lot of it. It's the first in this fic with no smut, and actually there's not gonna be any more smut from now until the end of the first fic in the series. THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS: mentions of sexual assualt, extreme gaslighting, severe disasociation and depersonalization, references to conversion therapy, and suicidal ideation (more or less).
> 
> It's gonna get a lot worse before it gets better.

**Catra (10:34 PM):** I made up my mind. I'm checking in, ASAP.

 **Mom (10:43 PM):** Good. I'll be there to pick you up at 8:30 AM tomorrow. 

**Mom (10:50 PM):** I'm proud of you, Catra.

 **Catra (11:02 PM):** Okay.

* * *

Climbing into the backseat of Shadow Weaver's car again feels just like climbing up the dusty wooden steps to the gallows. Catra already knows she won't be coming back, not really. If they can find a way to carve something useful from the ivory of her bones, something safe, there won't be enough of _her_ in it to call it anything but execution. She's at peace with that. She's _hoping_ for it. It's better than if they break her down into component parts and find nothing left to build upon, just a layer of scum floating to the top of a tub of solvent, to be scraped away and discarded.

Shadow Weaver's talking but she's not paying attention. She's staring down at the unsent email she composed instead of sleeping. It doesn't feel like enough. The impossibility of apologizing for what she's done weighs on her. How do you even begin to say _"Sorry I assaulted you when we were kids. Sorry I made you think this is what sex is supposed to be like. Sorry for making you undergo this over and over again for years and expecting you to be okay with it._

_I'm sorry for leaving, but more sorry that I stayed to begin with."_

She didn't want to call, or text. The chance that Adora might reply would be too great. She doesn't want Adora to see this until she's safely locked herself away. 

She considers messaging Scorpia but decides against it. After whatever happened at Game Night, the secret is obviously out, and her refusal to discuss the issue with Scorpia might as well have confirmed it. She's glad, honestly. She's glad Adora is talking about this with her friends, confiding in them. Catra wouldn't have had the guts to own up to it.

Part of her, the feral, selfish animal inside her, is hurt by it. Curled up on itself and licking its wounds at the thought of Adora telling people about them. _How much did you tell them, Adora? Did someone else hear you speak words meant only for me? Did you show them the collar I had made for you? Does it have someone else's fingerprints on the leather now? Did they map the constellations of marks still unfaded from your skin?_

_I kept your secrets, Adora. Why couldn't you keep mine?_

It's an absurd thought, of course. Adora has no obligation to not discuss the abuse inflicted on her simply to maintain Catra's privacy and besides, Catra _hadn't_ kept her secrets. Not properly. She'd been careless with them, the same way she was with everything about Adora. Careless with her body, her heart. 

The pictures she took. 

* * *

Shadow Weaver refused to talk about anything else without meeting in person—probably wanted to make sure Catra couldn't simply hang up or refuse to read another tirade of abuse—so Catra's waiting at a park bench in a part of town she's unfamiliar with, trying her best not to scratch at the old, splintering, wood with her claws. 

If someone had asked her to pick one person, just one, single person she never wanted to see that picture, she would have said Shadow Weaver. Setting aside the sickening knowledge that her mother has now seen her girlfriend naked, she knows that Shadow Weaver always has an angle. She's always trying to manipulate the situation, manipulate _people_ to her benefit, always looking for a lever she can use to get what she wants. 

And somehow, Catra has managed to hand her just about the biggest lever she can imagine.

She has no idea what kind of consequences there could be if something like this gets out. It could ruin Adora's academic reputation, she's certain, make her persona non grata in the unofficial whisper networks that decide who gets funding, who gets published, who gets accepted into grad school or a teaching position. It's entirely possible, even _likely_ that she's just single-handedly ruined her girlfriend's career.

It could be even worse for her, if someone makes the obvious connection about who took the picture, but Catra's less concerned about that. She's not the one who's supposed to have a future, anyway. 

When Shadow Weaver finally arrives, it's like someone sucked all the oxygen out of the air. Every breath feels insufficient, likes she's just choking down nitrogen and carbon dioxide, crowding her lungs with poison. 

"Hello, daughter," Shadow Weaver says because she's apparently incapable of talking like a normal fucking person literally ever. 

Catra tries to muster some strength, some confidence, but facing down her mother she can only ever feel small and scared and helpless again. She knows, _knows,_ that she's stronger now. Shadow Weaver can't touch her. 

That knowledge doesn't stop her ribs from aching. 

"Nothing to say for yourself?" Weaver asks, with an air of infuriating calm. Why does she always get to be the _calm_ one, the _reasonable_ one? Shadow Weaver could draw a knife across your throat like it was part of her morning routine but if you _dared_ to get angry at her for it suddenly you're delusional, hysterical, a manipulative child seeking attention by spinning a story. 

Catra's not like that. She gets angry, and afraid, and hurt. She's let herself get too open in the years since she's seen her mother, let too many people chip away at the armor she spent so many years building, and now when the worst happens she's left utterly defenseless. 

"How did you get that picture?" She asks. It's the one question that's been boiling to the top of her mind ever since she received the text. 

"You should have been more careful with Adora's reputation," Shadow Weaver replies. "Your recklessness has jeopardized her entire future." Shadow Weaver manages to make sipping from her water bottle a gesture of absolute contempt. "It was posted in a variety of places. I did my best to have it removed where possible, but who knows how many people saw it before I was able to intervene?" 

Catra feels sick again. Sure, she's not exactly a computer expert but she didn't think just having a photo on your phone could create that much exposure. Maybe she should have listened all the times she heard vague warnings about security breaches in "the cloud", or maybe she should have ditched this piece of junk years ago when she finally got her first college job and replaced it with something newer and probably more secure.

Whatever it was, if it's out there enough that _Shadow Weaver_ had seen it, that meant Catra had fucked up. Big time. 

"I notice you're not even attempting to deny the picture's authenticity," Shadow Weaver continues. "This is precisely why I disapproved of your relationship with Adora in the first place. I knew you wouldn't be able to control yourself, that you'd inevitably harm her like you did when you were teenagers."

"I _never_ hurt her," Catra snaps. "Despite whatever _lies_ the counselors at that– that _place_ might have told you, I never so much as _touched_ her." 

Shadow Weaver tilts her head, curiously. Catra had expected her to be furious but she just looks… _sad._ Pitying, almost. 

_Regretful?_

She sighs. "I should never have sent you to that place, Catra. I know it can be difficult for the mind to accept objectionable realities, especially at a young age, and I'm afraid trying to force you to come to terms with your actions against your will simply entrenched your delusions further. I'm sorry."

Catra can't speak. Doesn't know what to say. After seven years her mother just admitted that she was _wrong._ That sending her away to that hellhole had been a mistake. 

She _apologized._

Shadow Weaver continues as if she hasn't just shattered Catra's perception of reality with two words. "I was always opposed to the idea. I favored a more… voluntary approach to rehabilitation. But Adora's mother insisted, threatened to go to the police if I didn't send you away." Shadow Weaver takes Catra's hand in hers and Catra is too stunned, too confused to remember to flinch away. "I am truly sorry, Catra, for what happened to you. I realize now that it only made things worse. That I should have stood my ground. It's because of my weakness that you still suffer from these delusions. I've hurt both you and Adora." 

Catra jerks her hand away, blinks back the tears in her eyes. "There are no _delusions._ I know what happened. I didn't do anything wrong and they _tortured_ me for it. Because of you." 

"Oh, Catra," her mother sighs. "I know it's difficult to accept. I know that you truly cared for Adora, that the thought of hurting her pains you. But you can't change what happened simply by insisting otherwise. That just leads to you repeating the same mistakes. That… photograph makes it clear enough." 

Catra shrinks away, pulls her limbs inward. Makes herself a smaller target. "Adora wanted that. She _asked_ me for it. I made sure it was okay." 

"You don't think being assaulted by her best friend at the age of 16 might have affected her? Changed her idea of what's normal, acceptable? Made her hesitant to say no?" 

" _That's not what happened,_ " Catra repeats. "I– I never even touched her." 

Shadow Weaver lays a hand on her shoulder. She can feel it pressing down on her, heavy and immovable like it's made of solid iron. "She was a _child,_ Catra. She didn't understand what was happening." Her voice softens. "So were you. But refusing to acknowledge it won't make it any better. And continuing to insert yourself into Adora's life, as the source of so much of her trauma… you must know it's not right, to hurt her that way. And it's certainly not helping you to feed your obsession like that." 

Catra's shaking. _That isn't what happened._ She tells herself. _I never touched her._ She repeats it to herself, the same mantra she used to make it through every day of counseling, when she told the lies they wanted to hear, admitted to anything and everything they asked her to just to get it over with. 

It's convenient, really. Awfully convenient for her that none of this is actually her fault. That the version of events she's carefully picked over and convinced herself of exonerates her completely. That despite the holes in her memory all over that summer, she's certain she remembers _this_ well enough to stake her entire self-conceptualization on it. 

"I never meant to hurt her," she chokes out past her tears, "I love her. I love her, I just want her to be happy." 

"I know, dear. I know," her mother whispers. "I know you didn't mean to. It's not your fault that you're this way. You just… don't understand how your desires can hurt others."

Catra's sobbing now, her hands balled up into fists. "I love her. I love her more than anything I _never_ wanted to—" she stops, out of breath, throat too narrow to finish the familiar sentence. 

"I know," Shadow Weaver tells her. "It's not too late to make things right."

* * *

She loses track of how long the drive is, but she knows it's long. Every additional mile brings her a small measure of satisfaction. The further away she is from Adora, the better for everyone. No one will be able to find her out here, she didn't tell anyone where she was headed except Scorpia, and after their phone call last night Catra's confident even she won't come looking for her. 

She pulls up her email to Adora, decides to send it without looking it over again. Doesn't want to lose her nerve. Adora deserves an apology, at the very least. She's too much of a coward to give it in person, knows if she saw Adora again, had to look into her eyes, she wouldn't be able to do it. She'd delude herself into thinking everything is okay and beg Adora to take her back. And, knowing Adora she probably would. And then she'd be right back where she started. Even though she knows now how much harm she's doing, she'd be too drunk on Adora to care.

Even now it's so tempting to rationalize her desires. To tell herself that it's okay, it's not her fault, Adora wants her, Adora loves her. To blame absolutely anyone other than herself. Any excuse to indulge her addiction. 

She's not sure where they've ended up, exactly, only that it seems to be pretty close to nowhere. The desert stretches out for miles in all directions. Convenience stores and industrial shops, as well as a small handful of old, worn-down houses cling to the highway like flecks of meat on a vulture-picked bone. The geography here seems to reject human habitation, the patches of grass that occasionally grace a walkway or a front yard seem laughably insignificant compared to the empty expanse, withering and lonely, as if the desert might open its jaws and swallow them whole at any time.

The scraps get sparser as they keep driving. The last building Catra sees before they reach their destination is a solitary gas station, and even that is a tiny toy house on the horizon by the time Shadow Weaver turns off the main road and rolls to stop in front of a gate. 

She rolls down the window and exchanges a few words with someone over an intercom and the arm of the gate swings upwards. Catra sits up in her seat and tries to get a better picture of her new "home". There's no fence like she expected, the only distinction between the compound and the wilderness is the amount of sagebrush left to grow out of the cracks in the dry earth. 

There's only a handful of small, squat, concrete buildings, all strangely far apart and connected by small paved paths. Catra spots a golf cart traveling along one. 

Despite the fact that she's about to spend an indefinite amount of time living here, Catra finds it difficult to muster interest in what she's seeing. It doesn't matter. She's already decided none of this matters. Whatever happens when she finishes checking in and Shadow Weaver drives off and leaves her here won't be happening to _her._ Catra's dying, has been slowly suffocating for weeks now. By the end of the day she'll be gone, leaving nothing but a hollow body for them to fill up with a brand new person, a better person. Someone kind and caring and _good,_ someone who doesn't hurt the people she loves. Someone who can make her mother proud. 

_Good riddance._

Catra doesn't even notice they've arrived until the car turns off and the steady hum of the engine that's kept her company for the past few hours drops out, leaving her and Shadow Weaver alone in cramped, hollow silence. Her mother turns around to look at her in the backseat. "We're here."

Catra doesn't respond.

Shadow Weaver's face softens in a way that makes Catra have to grit her teeth to keep from lashing out, the beast inside her pulling hard on its leash. "I'm proud of you, Catra."

_No you're not._

_But you will be._

Catra exits the vehicle without a word, trudging behind Shadow Weaver as they make their way into one of the concrete buildings. The sidewalk up is buttressed by strips of brown dirt, covered in bark with some poor gardener's best attempts to make something actually _grow_ here poking out. The flowers look sickly and pathetic, the only plants that seem even remotely happy to be here are the thick, scraggly bushes with their thorns scraping against the frosted windows. 

_It's not actually about the flowers,_ Catra observes, distantly. _It doesn't matter if they live because they can always plant new ones. It only matters that they can show visitors that they're the kind of place that plants flowers._

She fights a sudden urge to tear a wilting daylily out of the earth and crush it between her claws.

The building they enter is _aggressively_ mundane, with short, wiry patterned carpet and spartan pine furniture. The blank white monotony of the walls intermittently broken by canvas prints of landscape photos that might be from anywhere. The whole place is boredom made manifest, the underlying hypnogogic hum of the air conditioner demanding the sort of hapless lethargy Catra's felt in every doctor's waiting room or summer school math class she's ever been in. It's probably supposed to be soothing, lending an air of normalcy and comfort to an abnormal and uncomfortable situation.

It scares the _shit_ out of her. 

Thankfully she isn't given much time to stew in her fear before she's ushered into an office and sat down at a wide desk across from a tall, pale man with white hair. His hands are folded neatly together, resting on the dark, varnished wood, his face set into a placid smile. The part of Catra that remembers how to be angry takes an immediate dislike to him. 

He's talking now but Catra can't hear him. There's ringing in her ears, the sound of his voice fading in and out, sometimes sounding like it's a thousand miles away and then all at once blasting inside her skull. Her head is swimming by the time he slides a thick packet and a pen across the desk to her and the words blur on the page as she flips through it, pretending to read, catching incoherent snatches of his speech.

"—seek to purge pain and find peace in the—"

The words _consent to treat_ come into brief focus in front of her.

"—may require an extended stay but I am confident—"

Her ears flatten and she only just manages to keep her claws from scoring deep marks in the expensive-looking desk. 

"—clearly experiencing a great deal of distress—"

Her phone is vibrating in her pocket.

"—like to think of you all like my family, my little brothers and sisters, who have become lost and—"

The words end at some point, and Catra feels like she's supposed to respond. "Yeah, ok." 

The man smiles even wider. "Then just sign and date there, and your new life can begin." 

Catra uncaps the pen, the straight dark signature line staring back at her like the edge of a knife. She's already made up her mind. There's no more decision left to make. 

Why won't her hand stop shaking?

Her phone buzzes again and Shadow Weaver gives her a disapproving look. 

_No no no no I won't do it I can't do it_

_I promised her_

_FUCK her I can't go back I won't go back_

_It won't be like last time she said she was sorry_

_She lies she always lies it's going to be exactly like before_

_She didn't know it was going to be like that she wouldn't hurt me on purpose, she's my mom she loves me_

_She's never loved me_

_She loves me she said so she has to she has to I need her to_

"Catra," Shadow Weaver says, annoyed. "Could you _please_ silence your phone?" 

The voice startles Catra out of her thoughts and she drops the pen, watches it roll off the desk and land too-heavily on the floor for a piece of plastic. She fumbles with her pocket and silences her phone, glancing at the notifications. Five missed calls from Scorpia, and even more texts. She unlocks her phone.

**Missed call from Scorpia (10:28 AM)**

**Missed call from Scorpia (10:29 AM)**

**Missed call from Scorpia (10:31 AM)**

**Scorpia (10:32 AM):** Catra please pick up

 **Scorpia (10:32 AM):** We need to talk

 **Scorpia (10:33 AM):** I'm not mad at you

 **Scorpia (10:33 AM):** I know your not a bad person even if youve done bad things

**Missed call from Scorpia (10:34 AM)**

**Scorpia (10:35 AM):** ok if you dont wanna talk ill just text you

 **Scorpia (10:36 AM):** perfuma looked up that place you mentioned the one SW told u about

 **Scorpia (10:36 AM):** its bad news

 **Scorpia (10:37 AM):** the guy who runs it is hordaks brother 

**Scorpia (10:38 AM):** its not just him half the staff from the fright zone went there after it shut down

 **Scorpia (10:39 AM):** its literally the same thing but for adults 

**Scoripa (10:40 AM):** catra I know your going through a lot but I promise this wont help 

**Scorpia (10:42 AM):** we dont have to talk just promise me you wont go there

 **Scorpia (10:45 AM):** catra please

**Missed call from Scorpia (10:47 AM)**

**Scorpia (10:51 AM):** catra you dont deserve that nobody does

 **Scorpia (10:52 AM):** i love you please call me asap

Catra locks her phone just in time for Shadow Weaver to snatch it out of her hand and hand her the discarded pen. " _Focus,_ dear."

Catra takes the pen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please remember that Shadow Weaver Is A Lying Bitch
> 
> Well, that was a fucking nightmare to write. Not just because it's emotionally taxing to write trauma but the structure and the role it needs to serve in the story were tricky. I got so frustrated working on this that I wrote 8k words of vampire smut to destress so go check it out if that's your jam it's called _Enough To Slake My Thirst_. 
> 
> The next few chapters are going to involve flashbacks to Catra's time in conversion therapy as a teenager as well as her time in high school and early college afterwards. It's going to be extremely rough and I'm most likely going to wait to post chapter 10 until 11 is also ready because I don't wanna leave y'all on the incredible downer note 10 is gonna end on.
> 
> Speaking of chapters, unless I change my mind the titles for the remaining chapters in the fic will be:  
> 10: Bloodied, But Unbowed  
> 11: The World Is So Much Wider  
> 12: You Do Not Have To Be Good  
> 13: That Wild Heart Of Yours
> 
> Stick with me just a bit longer folks, I promise there is light on the other side.


	10. Ugly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "When will Sleepy Sappho return from the war?" I hear you say, and the answer is TODAY, BITCH.
> 
> But seriously thank you all for being patient with me while I worked on this chapter. I was originally planning to keep this flashback all to one long mega angst chapter but it turned out writing really difficult subject matter while not getting any feedback and comments from you lovely folks was kind of killing my motivation. Not to mention just having had a heck of a month between my job and switching up some medications and briefly hyperfixating on a weird internet thing called Blaseball (which I actually wrote [a fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26116057) for the other day, don't ask me why I have no answers). 
> 
> Ultimately I decided to split it up into multiple chapters so we're gonna be stuck here for a while. "Here" being this extra long adolescence flashback cause, that's right folks, we're going back to the summer Catra turned 16.
> 
>  **Content wantings for this chapter** , and please take these seriously they are VERY extreme examples: child abuse, physical, mental, and emotional, child abduction, thoughts of self hatred, homophobia, references to denying a child food, conversion therapy, near-drowning, hazing. Discrimination against Catra for being a hybrid, drawing on the language of real life ableism. Extreme gaslighting, discussions of sexual assualt, references to sexual assualt used as a form of abuse by authority figures, references to child death and implied suicide.
> 
> There is still, I can say for certain, no sexual assualt depicted in this fic, nor will there be, because everybody has to have a line I guess.
> 
> If you're looking at those content warnings and thinking you should skip this, I included a bare bones summary of the events in as detatched and hopefully non-triggering language possible in the end notes so you can keep up with the plot.
> 
> A HUGE shout-out to [Johannas_Motivational_Insults](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johannas_Motivational_Insults/pseuds/Johannas_Motivational_Insults) for betaing this chapter and giving me tons of helpful feedback. If you haven't checked out their fics [Demons](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18026990/chapters/42594701), [Hail Mary](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24968263/chapters/60443221), or [Satisfaction](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21110984/chapters/50234594) WHAT ARE YOU DOING GO READ THEM.
> 
> Phew, okay, that was a lot. But here we are, I hope you enjoy.

**Adora (12:21 PM):** I'm heeeereeee

 **Adora (12:21 PM):** u ready to freaking rock this summer

 **Adora (12:22 PM):** caaaatraaaaa 

**Adora (12:22 PM):** open the dooooor 

Catra can't help but smile. Her best friend is a First Class, 24-karat, USDA Grade A dork. She can imagine the dumb little pout Adora's probably making right now as she stands outside Catra's front door. Adora's actually kind of a reserved kid, doesn't talk much in school and tries to fly under the radar (or as much under the radar as a mathlete and star soccer player can), but not with Catra. Ever since they were kids, she's always been a totally different person when they're together, enthusiastic and clumsy and constantly overflowing with laughter and excitement. It's cute. Catra likes that Adora acts differently with her, likes that Adora seems happier when they're together, even if it makes her feel kind of weird lately. 

She winces when she stands up, the pull of muscles along her side screaming against the wide bruise along her ribs, and she bites down on the back of her wrist to keep from crying out. It's easier once she's standing, though, and she's able to walk to the door to meet Adora without collapsing, albeit slower than usual. 

Catra opens the door and is overjoyed to realize she was _totally_ right about Adora's pouty face, even if it immediately vanishes to be replaced by pure elation as the blonde girl screams " _Catra!"_ and leaps inside, pulling her best friend into a crushing hug.

Adora's left arm wraps around Catra's ribs and presses in _hard_ , agony shooting through her side and her knees giving out. _"Fuck!"_ She curses, scrabbling awkwardly at Adora's arms to try and remain upright. 

"Whoa, are you okay?" Adora asks, hooking her arms under Catra's armpits and pulling her to her feet. "What was _that?_ "

"It's nothing," Catra grits out. "Let's get out of here." 

Adora gives her a _look_ , one of those dumb _looks_ she sometimes gives when Catra bitches about her mom. Catra fucking _hates_ that look, the way it's full of concern and _pity,_ like she's a wounded puppy. She hates it most of all when it's coming from Adora. 

"Let me take a look at it first, okay? C'mon." Adora guides them over to Catra's room and closes the door behind them, her hand unconsciously moving to close the lock before remembering there isn't one on this side. She sits Catra down on the bed and stands with her hands on her hips, doing her best to look authoritative. 

"Take off your shirt," she says, and Catra's brain shatters. Unwanted thoughts bubble to the surface, snatches of the dreams she leaves out of her journal, the feeling of Adora's eyes on her from across the room in gym class, the way Adora's hands have seemed _softer_ lately when they're holding her own, idle speculation about other places they might feel soft on—

" _What?"_ is all she manages to splutter out, crossing her arms and pulling away.

Adora rolls her eyes, cheeks slightly pink. "So I can see what's wrong, dummy. Just leave your bra on." 

Catra curls into herself a little bit more. She's… different from the other girls her age. Not just because she's, you know, not entirely a human, but she's noticed over the last few years how her classmates have been changing in ways she hasn't. Shadow Weaver had kept her home from school one day in sixth grade and ever since then it felt like there was some big _secret_ she was missing out on. She tried asking Adora about it but all she got was awkward stammering and blushing which, while cute, was completely unhelpful. 

Her mom had come home one day and tossed a few bras into her room without a word after she got sent home from school for reasons she still doesn't entirely understand, although people still stare at her and giggle in the halls when they think she isn't looking. It took her a few hours but she figured out the weird clothing and started wearing them to school, which seemed to keep her from getting sent home. They fit strangely and she doesn't like them, they make her chest hurt, which it's honestly doing enough on its own these days, so she never wears them when she doesn't have to. 

Honestly she considers herself pretty lucky. Last year she found out that Adora has been _bleeding,_ and that apparently that's normal and happening every month to the rest of the girls in school. Catra really hopes that's only a human thing. 

But, yeah. No bra. Not on a weekend, certainly not during the summer, and not right now when Adora has her on the bed and is asking her to take off her shirt. 

She crosses her arms harder across her chest ( _ow)_ and ducks her head down. " _Imnotwearingabra,_ " she mumbles, refusing to look Adora in the eye.

"Oh!" Adora exclaims, face now a lot more than _slightly_ pink. "Oh, uh, yeah, that makes sense. Sometimes I forget that you're uh," she gestures at Catra awkwardly.

"That I'm _what?"_ Catra snaps back, irritably.

"You know, uh. Smaller. In the chest sort of, uh, area." Adora is scratching the back of her head and looking anywhere in the room other than Catra. 

Catra pulls her legs up onto the bed and curls up so her knees obscure as much of her torso as possible. "I get it, I'm ugly," she spits, "you don't have to make a big deal out of it." 

"Catra, _no,_ " Adora says, climbing into the bed with her, grabbing both her hands. "You are _not_ ugly. You're– you're the prettiest girl I know." 

Catra's ears flatten. "Except for the whole _no tits_ part." She's heard that one tossed her way a lot recently. Almost as much as _here kitty kitty_ or _furry freak_.

"That's not–" Adora huffs in exasperation and grabs Catras face to make her look up at her. "Being small isn't a bad thing, Catra. Having bigger ti– er, uh, _breasts,_ is just a pain, really. They just get in the way, and they keep bumping into things and that hurts a _lot_ and it's hard to find shirts that fit now and I can't play soccer without wearing a really tight sports bra and–" Adora stops herself. "Look, the point is, they're just. Sacks of fat, and whatever size they are doesn't make a difference in how pretty you are. You're, you're all _sleek,_ and elegant like a, a, dancer or something, having a bigger chest wouldn't– it's not like–" Adora makes a frustrated noise and rubs her eyes. "Look you don't need them to be pretty. You're pretty. Okay?" 

Despite how awkward and uncomfortable this whole situation is, Adora's little speech actually makes Catra feel… warm, all over. She smiles a little. "I dunno, princess, they seem to be working out pretty well for you."

Adora just gapes at her, mouth open, and Catra instantly regrets it. _Stupid stupid stupid why the fuck did you say that? God now she knows what a stupid freak you are and she's gonna walk out of here and you're gonna lose your only friend because you couldn't stop being a disgusting pervert, you fucking idiot._

"Close your mouth before you catch a fly or something," Catra mumbles.

Adora's jaw snaps shut, although that does nothing to prevent her cheeks from turning bright red. Catra's very glad for her darker skin and the thin fur on her face because from the heat in her cheeks she's pretty sure she'd be just as obvious right now.

"Uh, thanks." Adora says, toying with her ponytail. 

They sit in awkward silence for a while, not looking at each other, Catra's tail thrashing back and forth uncomfortably on the bed. 

"Look," Adora finally says. "It's not like it's anything I haven't seen before. And you can, uh, just keep your arms crossed. I just wanna make sure you're okay." 

"Fine," Catra concedes. "Just, turn around for a sec." 

Adora dutifully does and Catra takes a deep breath (fucking _ow_ ) before slowly pulling off her shirt. The bruise looks even worse than it did yesterday and she's already thinking through how to keep Adora from losing her shit when she turns around. Catra carefully crosses her arms across her breasts and takes a moment to steady herself before saying "Okay, you can look now." 

Adora turns around and her eyes widen, roaming down from Catra's face to the deep bruise on her right side, visible even under her fur. She reaches out her hand slowly and brushes it against Catra's side, causing her to flinch. "Sorry! I'm guessing that hurts."

"Figure that out all by yourself?" Catra says through gritted teeth.

"How did this happen?" Adora asks, her hand pulling back slightly to rest just under Catra's crossed arms. Catra's not sure why she hasn't removed it entirely, but she doesn't say anything.

"I was being an idiot," she says, which is true enough. "I fell down while trying to climb a tree." 

That, not so much. It's not like Catra _likes_ lying to Adora, it's just… Adora is _so_ beautiful. Not like _that_ , she tells herself, just that she's… perfect. Always the best at everything she does, always kind to everyone, it's like she has this warm golden light that follows her around. It used to piss her off, make her jealous, but now…She just wants to be closer. Wants to have some of that light shine on her, maybe. Which is bad, because despite whatever Adora says, Catra is pretty much the opposite of beautiful. Not just her body but her _life_ , everything in her world is so ugly, all the time. Adora doesn't belong down there with her, she was made for sunshine and love and summers spent running around in the woods. Not 8pm curfews and a deadbolt on your door that only works from the outside and a window that's been permanently caulked shut. 

It's selfish, how much she wants Adora. How she gets so much of her, more than anyone else maybe, and yet still something in her is always demanding _more,_ _closer, warmer._ Some days she feels like she wants to just… climb inside of her, somehow, become _part_ of Adora in a way that nobody can undo, hitch a ride into Adora's bright, golden world and leave all of this behind. Other days, she wants things she doesn't have a name for but which she _knows_ are wrong, twisted desires that she has to keep hidden no matter what.

Adora's making that kind of hard right now, her hand is so _warm,_ flattened and holding perfectly still on Catra's skin. Like if she doesn't move, they're not really touching. Her thumbnail is pressed against the underside of Catra's wrist, like she might slide her hand up and under Catra's folded arms at any moment and touch her–

Catra bites down on that thought, _hard._

Adora hums softly in contemplation, her eyes tracing soothing patterns over the injured skin where her hand cannot. "Do you have any painkillers?" 

"No," Catra lies. They have plenty, but her mom already told her that privilege was being revoked and put a lock on the medicine cabinet last night.

"I should get you an ice pack or something, at least," Adora says, drawing her hand back, leaving Catra feeling suddenly cold. Part of her is glad that Adora isn't touching her anymore, isn't sending her stomach flipping in all kinds of dangerous, upsetting ways. A much larger part of her is telling her to _get that touch back,_ no matter what. 

Adora makes to stand up and leave but Catra's hand shoots out, snatches at her wrist. "Wait," she starts to say, but stops when she sees how Adora's eyes are _locked_ onto her now-exposed chest, how her pupils are dilating and her eyes growing dark and _holy shit is she biting her lip right now_ and– 

Adora moves her hand slightly so she can interlock her fingers with Catra's, and sits back down on the bed. She's still staring, like she couldn't make herself stop even if she wanted to. Catra should be looking away in embarrassment right now but she's similarly transfixed by the sight of Adora's dark eyes, so filled with something she doesn't know how to name, Adora's throat moving as she swallows and says, "Catra, I–" 

The door _slams_ open and the air in the room shatters. Catra yanks her hand away and scrabbles for a pillow to try and cover herself. Shadow Weaver stands in the doorway looking impossibly tall, her face wrapped in bandages and only her eyes visible, dark and enraged.

" _What_ ," she growls out, " _is going on here?"_

There's a terrible moment of silence before Adora speaks. "I, I was just trying to help Catra with–"

"Adora, _dear,_ " Shadow Weaver spits, only able to approximate the calm tone she normally takes with Catra's friend, "I think you should go home. _Now._ This is a family matter." 

Adora looks between Catra and her mother, eyes wide with panic. Catra looks back, tries to somehow communicate with her best friend using only her eyes. _Don't go. Please don't go._

Either Adora doesn't understand, or doesn't care, because she stands up awkwardly, apologizes to Shadow Weaver, and scurries out of the room.

Catra is alone.

"What have you _done?_ " Shadow Weaver says, stepping closer to Catra, looming over her.

Catra clutches the pillow tighter. "I tried to tell her not to! She wouldn't listen!" 

"Don't blame this on _Adora_ ," her mother says. "We both know that you're trying to _corrupt_ her."

"It's not like that!" Catra cries out, tears starting to burn at the corners of her eyes. "She was just looking at my bruise, she noticed I was hurt and wanted to make sure I was okay."

That stops Shadow Weaver's slow advance. She stands in silence for a moment, pensive. "Your bruise?" she asks, carefully.

"Yeah," Catra stammers out, "the, the one I got trying to climb a tree. Remember?"

Shadow Weaver stays silent for a long time. Eventually, she nods. "Of course," Catra's mother says, turning away to leave. "We will discuss this _later._ " 

The door slams closed again and Catra can hear the familiar _thunk_ of the deadbolt sliding into place. She clutches the pillow harder and begins to cry.

* * *

Catra thinks her mom is going to yell at her, or hit her, but she doesn't. She leaves the door to Catra's door locked for one, two days. It's not the first time this has happened and Catra has some water bottles and granola bars rolled up inside a sweater in the back of her dresser, so it's not really that bad. What kills her is the _waiting._ Waiting for the other shoe to drop, or get flung directly at her head as the case may be. She's never seen Shadow Weaver so angry before. There's going to be repercussions for this.

She has no idea how bad they're going to be.

Catra's in the middle of another confusing, gold-and-blue dream when she wakes up with a flashlight in her face, blinding her. Before she can process what's happening a pair of large hands is grabbing her by the wrists and another under her knees, dragging her out of bed. Her side bumps against the bed frame and she howls in pain as her vision swims and she almost blacks out immediately.

"Jesus, Frank," she hears a man's voice say, "don't hurt her."

"They all scream like that," a deeper voice replies, "it's not actually hurt, it's just trying to get you to let go. Fuckin' brats." 

Catra's vision begins to adapt and she makes out two shapes in the shadows from the flashlight, tall broad men dressed in black, each probably about three times her size. For a moment she's paralyzed and they manage to get her out of her room and halfway out the door before her instincts kick in and she's screaming for her mother, claws out, scrambling at her captors, trying to draw blood and win herself an opening. 

"Fuck!" one yells when she manages to catch his exposed face. Her wrists are quickly grabbed again and she twists her hand around, sinking her claws uselessly into thick leather gloves. "I thought we were getting a kid, not a fucking _animal._ " She hisses and spits in his face.

"Both," says the deeper voice. "Fuckin' chimeras are always the worst." 

Shadow Weaver is either gone, or asleep, or just doesn't give a shit. Catra twists harder in the strange mens' grip, desperately trying to get free. She knows if she can just get loose she can sprint away, climb something and they won't be able to follow her. If she can _just–_

The back of a heavy hand cracks against the side of her face and her skull explodes in pain. The deeper voice is saying something but Catra's ears are ringing. 

"—you little shit, you understand me?"

Catra squirms and gets another blow, this time to her gut. She falls to her knees, lungs straining for air. She feels something hard and plastic tightening around her wrists. 

"More trouble than you're worth," one of the men says as she's bundled into the back of a large car. There's a metal screen between her and the front seats. 

Catra's mind is racing. Who are these men? Where are they taking her? Every presentation about Stranger Danger flashes through her head at once. _If you're taken to a secondary location, your odds of being found alive drastically decrease_. Most of the information was about _avoiding_ this part, what the hell is she supposed to do when she's already being driven away? 

She should be trying to look out the tinted windows, get an idea of where she's being taken, but she was tossed into the backseat laying down and trying to sit up drives spikes of agony into the back of her skull along with the by-now familiar pain in her side. 

It's not the first time Catra's been sure she's going to die, but at least if she died at her mom's hands she could go with the satisfaction that there would probably be legal consequences for her. 

She realizes that if these men wanted her dead they could probably have done that already, without a great deal of difficulty. If they're keeping her alive that means they probably _want_ something, and it's not like she comes from a loaded family or anything. That means—

She refuses to think about what that might mean.

"This is a really bad idea, you know," she says from the backseat. "My mom is a pretty scary motherfucker, you don't want to piss her off."

She realizes immediately how pathetic that sounds, trying to threaten two men built like brick walls with the specter of a middle aged woman who only gets to be strong when she's beating up on a child. 

One of the men laughs, cruel and low. The other one speaks. "Kid, your mom is the one who signed you up for this." 

_What?_

She always knew Shadow Weaver hated her, but… she never thought her mom would pay people to get rid of her, if only because it would deny her the personal satisfaction.

"She– she paid you to kill me?" Catra's voice is weaker than she wants it to be. She's weaker than she wants to be.

A sigh. "We're not gonna kill you, kid. We're–"

"Shut the hell up. Don't talk to the little fucker. It can figure it out when we get there." 

Silence crashes through the car like a rogue wave and Catra tries to think of some other approach.

"Can you at least let my wrists free?" she asks. There's no response. She weakly kicks at the barrier. "Hey, assholes! My hands are getting numb! You want a fucking amputee on your hands?"

"Frank, maybe we should–"

"Jesus Christ, when are you gonna learn you can't trust what the little fuckers say? These aren't _kids,_ Alan. They're crackheads and rapists and gang members and shit, lying to try and get sympathy is practically in their blood. If it was just a regular kid they wouldn't need to call us."

She tries to get their attention a few more times, kicks at the barrier until "Frank" asks if she wants him to come back there and "beat your furry freak ass" again. She doesn't, and decides that shutting up is the best course of action for now.

She realizes that there's nothing she can do. She tells herself it might be a nightmare, tries to force herself to wake up, but she stays put in the back of the car, driving to some unknown destination. Her fear is real enough, and the pain _definitely_ is. If her mom signed her up for this then it's probably legal, or at the very least close enough that nobody will give a shit. 

Nobody is coming to save her. There's no one left in the whole world who cares.

The man driving switches on the radio to drown her out when she starts to cry.

Catra can't tell if time compresses or expands in the backseat of the van. She knows it doesn't feel normal, doesn't feel _real,_ even as the nauseating notion that it unquestionably is real settles in her stomach. By the time the van is parked, early morning light is trying to batter its way through the tinted windows. It's bright and blinding when the door slides open and one of the men pulls her out of the van into a wide parking lot, and heat is already beginning to bleed from the asphalt under her feet. 

The man cuts the zip tie off and her hands feel like she just went ten rounds with a box of sewing needles as the blood rushes back into them. Her muscles tense and she prepares to run, but a heavy hand on her shoulder stops her. Her eyes dart around the asphalt arena, evaluating possible escape routes. Bordering the parking lot is a wide, squat building. It reminds her of her school, except lonelier. Behind her the parking lot stretches for what feels like miles, far larger than a building of this size could possibly need, closed off by a gate and set back from the nearest public street by a long, winding road. The school itself is surrounded on its other sides by a field of yellowing grass, and the entire area is bound on all sides by a high chain link fence topped with loose curls of razor wire. 

No way out. Not as slow as she is right now, her whole body screaming in pain. With no alternative she can think of, she lets herself be led into the building. 

* * *

It's surprising how quickly Catra's worst nightmare becomes her new normal. The first few days feel impossible, dreamlike, and she stumbles through them with a thick haze in her head. She's not sure if it's from the shock or the possible concussion. Either way it soon clears and as the unavoidable reality sets in her thoughts turn from praying to wake up at home to learning how to survive in this environment.

Despite her poor grades, Catra's always been a quick learner when it counts. The pounding agony in her head when she first arrived had drowned out everything she'd been told as she was bundled from room to room, mutely staring down lectures from various strangers until she was finally led to a bunk and allowed to sleep. She's had to try and pick up everything on her own, from context and what conversation she's permitted with the other students here. She learns this place has an official name, but that the other students will laugh at her if she uses it when there aren't adults around. They call it "the Fright Zone", though no one can tell her where the name comes from. She can't dispute the nickname's accuracy, though. Everyone here is _terrified._ They try to hide it with nervous smiles and crude jokes and outbursts of anger, but Catra can smell it in the air. Raw, animal fear, rolling off of everyone in thick waves. 

She can't blame them. She feels it too.

As far as she can tell, this is a place people turn to when they get tired of having children. Most go back, eventually, when their parents run out of money or they've been deemed "reformed" or they age out. But some…

There are names the other students avoid speaking. "That redheaded girl", they say instead, or "the kid with the snake eyes" or, most frequently, "you know, the crazy one?" They no longer have names, faces, memorialized solely by the traits that their peers mocked them for. 

It takes longer for her to figure out why she's here, exactly. It's not surprising that Shadow Weaver would want to get rid of her, but it's not until she begins her "counseling" sessions that she finds out exactly _what_ it is she told these people, what "issues" she's expected to try and overcome. 

She stumbles to the nearest bathroom after her first session and empties her stomach into a toilet. Just the _thought_ of that happening, of _her_ doing that, to _Adora_ of all people—

She doesn't want, want to _touch_ girls like that. And even if she did, it wouldn't be Adora. And even if it was, she would _never_ hurt her, never do anything of those _things,_ never ra—

It's an _ugly_ word, and she _hates_ it, hates how casually her counselor tossed it at her over and over again, like it brought him some sick satisfaction to see her flinch at it. Just saying it in her head makes her sick again, stomach clenching painfully on nothing as she dry heaves over the toilet bowl, tears streaming down her face and throat burning with bile. 

_They're lying,_ she says, over and over. _That's not what happened. I never even touched her._

She repeats it in her head, painting the words over her memory of that last day with Adora in her room, wiping away the sensation of Adora's skin on hers, the way she had _looked_ at Catra in the golden summer morning light, the way her eyes were so, _so,_ blue. She scrapes it all down to bare canvas, replaces it with the single most important truth she knows. 

_I never even touched her._

_I never wanted to._

_I don't want to._

_I don't want Adora._

_Not like that._

* * *

By the end of her first week in the Fright Zone, Catra is starting to feel… not comfortable, of course, but a little more _secure._ She's got a handle on this place, she thinks. She's managed to internalize most of the overwhelming deluge of rules and regulations. If she follows them carefully, keeps her head down, and swallows the bile in her throat during her counseling sessions, she can make it out of here alive. 

Friday night she's jolted awake by a hand grabbing hers, trying to pull her out of bed. At first her chest is thundering with panic, because it's happening _again_ and she lashes out clumsily. The intruder yelps with a voice much too high to be one of the men who brought her here and jumps backwards, and Catra blinks thickly until her vision clears.

She feels stupid immediately because it's just Lonnie, the girl who bunks above her. She's not sure what she was so afraid of in the first place. After all, it's not like they're gonna take her somewhere _worse_. "What the _fuck_ Catra," she hisses, drawing her hand back and wiping the thin line of blood on her jeans. 

"Yeah, well, maybe don't sneak up on me in the middle of the fucking night," Catra snaps. "What are you doing anyway?" 

Lonnie tugs on her hand again, trying to pull her out of bed. "Come _on._ There's a thing tonight."

A _thing_ definitely sounds like something Catra's gonna get in trouble for participating in. She seriously doubts the administrators here have sanctioned a _thing_ after lights out and sent her bunkmate to notify her. "Yeah, I think I'll pass," Catra says, rolling over to face the wall. "You have fun though." 

Lonnie shakes her shoulder again, and Catra's fur bristles. "This is _important,_ " she insists. 

"I'm not breaking curfew to join your 3 AM book club or whatever, so piss off. I'm going back to sleep." 

Lonnie grabs her by the arm and _pulls_ , rolling Catra back over to face her. She rolls her eyes. "You're not gonna get in trouble," she explains, "we have this every time a new kid shows up. It's like, the one thing they're cool about letting us get away with." Catra pointedly closes her eyes and makes an exaggerated snoring sound. "Ugh. _Please,_ Catra? If you don't go, everybody is gonna hate you and since I'm your bunkmate they're gonna hate me too. Can you just— do this for me? Cause even if you don't care about getting along with anyone here, _I_ do." 

Catra groans. "Fine. Let's just get it over with, whatever it is." 

She lets herself be led out of their room, the hallway's tiles cool against her bare feet, out into the warm summer night. There's a small enclosure surrounded by a cinder block wall, and Lonnie pulls her through a gap in the wall.

The smell hits her immediately, the stench of rot and muck and rancid water makes her want to puke, but she swallows it down. There's a small group of students gathered near the center of the enclosure, Catra recognizes most of them from the same section as her, although a few are older. As Lonnie leads her towards the crowd she sees what they're standing next to, the source of the overpowering stench.

There's a small, round pool scooped out of the concrete floor, clearly long abandoned. No one's bothered to drain it, or clean it, clearly, and the water is tinted a sickly green. A thick layer of dark green scum swims on top, and insects skim across the surface and form a small buzzing cloud above the pool. Catra can't see how deep it is under the filthy water, but a chipped "NO DIVING" sign on the wall makes her think not very.

"Jeez, couldn't find anywhere better to do this? Like, maybe, anywhere?" Catra quips, eyeing the water nervously. She does _not_ like pools. 

Some girl with a face she vaguely recognizes and a name she doesn't know laughs, face splitting into a wide, unsettling grin. "The pool's the whole reason we're here, newbie. It's time for you to get baptized." 

Catra _really_ doesn't like the sound of that, and she takes a step backwards only to run into the solid wall of another student behind her. There's a large hand on her shoulder now, gripping a little too tightly to be entirely _friendly_. 

The smiling girl steps closer to Catra, looming over her. "Everybody takes a dip in the pool their first week in the Fright Zone. It's tradition." 

"I– I can't swim." It's a half-truth. She's taken lessons, but the moment her head goes underwater she starts to panic, limbs thrashing wildly, suddenly sinking to the bottom and her lungs screaming for air—

The girl's smile falters for a moment. She looks Catra up and down, frowning, and is about to say something when someone in the crowd yells to get on with it. The girl turns over her shoulder and scans the faces of her fellow students, and when she turns back to Catra her smile is back, eyes cold and determined as she grabs Catra by the front of her shirt. 

"Better learn," she smirks before she pulls Catra forward and spins her around, leaving her teetering on the lip of the pool for just a moment.

"Wait, _plea_ –" Catra manages before she feels a hand pushing on each shoulder and she spills forward into the water. 

She doesn't close her mouth in time and the water rushes down her throat, thick slime coating her teeth and tongue. In the moment before her eyes start to burn and she snaps them shut, all she can see is _green._ It's green all around her, warm and heavy, water pressing down on her body and forcing her _down_ towards the bottom of the pool. She thrashes wildly, trying to force herself back to the surface, but the tips of her fingers brush uselessly against the slime-covered concrete at the bottom. Her lungs are _screaming_ for more oxygen and she's fighting to keep her mouth closed, resisting the instinct to open wide and suck down another breath. Her head is pounding and she feels like she's drifting up and away, out of the water, away from the pathetic waterlogged body drowning in a shallow, murky pool far away from home.

She feels another pair of hands grabbing onto her shirt and Lonnie is leaning over the pool and heaving her out of the water, Catra's hands and knees scraping against the rough concrete as she gasps for air. 

"Jesus Christ, you weren't kidding," Lonnie says, patting her on the back as she coughs. The rest of the students are laughing and whooping, some even cheering as Catra vomits up the remnants of her dinner along with an obscene amount of green water. The scum is clinging to her fur, coating her hair. She feels like she's never going to be clean again. 

Someone else steps too close to her and she hisses and lashes out blindly, prompting another wave of laughter. Catra feels naked, her thin sleep clothes sodden and clinging to her skin, and everyone is _staring_ at her. 

They're a pack of wild animals. Jackals, too weak to feed on anything but the dead and dying.

"Shut up!" she screams, voice ragged. They just laugh louder. Her claws scrape against the pavement uselessly and she feels tears welling in her eyes, which just makes her _angrier_ and makes the others laugh louder.

"Come on," Lonnie says, helping her to her feet. "Let's get out of here." 

Catra leans on her bunkmate as they stumble back to their room. "I'm gonna kill you," she spits out, her voice broken with sobs. "I'm gonna fucking _kill_ you." 

Lonnie keeps quiet as Catra cries into her shoulder.

* * *

Two weeks later, there's another new arrival, a skinny, nervous kid named Kyle. He doesn't put up much of a fight when they tell him to get in, stepping up to the edge of the pool of his own volition. He chickens out at the last second and tries to step back, but slips on the slime lining the edge and tumbles into the water, cracking his arm painfully against the concrete. 

This time, Catra laughs along with everyone else.

* * *

When Catra finally makes it back to her room, she pushes Lonnie away and heads straight for the shower. She's probably going to need an hour, maybe more, to wash all the scum out of her hair and fur. Her sleep clothes are a lost cause, and she tosses them directly in the garbage as she stumbles into the tiny shower she shares with Lonnie. 

Maybe she'll feel better after a shower, less disgusting, humiliated, angry and pathetic and small. Maybe she can wash the sound of mocking laughter from her ears along with the green tinge in her fur. Hell, maybe she can even get as much hot water as she wants, this late at night, though she's willing to do this cold if she has to.

She closes her eyes and turns the handle, but nothing happens. There's a sputtering sound and a pained groaning in the pipes, and a few stray droplets spatter on her face. 

"They turn the water off outside of the regular shower times in the morning and evening," Lonnie says from the other side of the curtain. Catra slumps to the floor, lets her head _thud_ against the shower wall. 

"I'll skip showering tomorrow," Lonnie says, after a moment. "If you get up around 6 AM you should have about an hour of time." 

Catra doesn't thank her for the generosity, not after tonight. She just sinks down even further, curls up naked and filthy on the shower floor. She doesn't feel like moving, and she'd only ruin her sheets if she climbed into bed like this anyway. She holds the tears in until she hears the creak of Lonnie climbing the ladder to her bunk, waits until she can faintly hear the other girl snoring, and then lets herself cry again. It's softer this time, not the heaving sobs that broke her voice on the way back from the pool, just hot, wet tears streaming down her face, pathetic sniffling like a helpless child. _Sniveling,_ is the word that comes to mind, the word Mom used to call her. She remembers surprising her teacher in 3rd grade when she was able to define it correctly. She hadn't known it was that uncommon.

At some point, when the filth in her fur and her tears have all dried, she slips into a shallow sleep, and dreams of green water in her eyes and lungs, laughter muffled by the weight of water on her head, drifting deeper into a bottomless expanse of _green_ that presses on her skin, seeps into her and pushes her out of her own body, animates her empty skin. She watches herself from the outside, watches as her mother reaches a long, thin arm into the water and pulls her back out, watches as Not-Her smiles broadly, leans into Shadow Weaver's affectionate touch on her cheek.

When Not-Catra opens her eyes, they are a solid green.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SUMMARY:  
> In the summer between middle school and high school, Adora visits Catra at her house. When she realizes Catra is hurt she asks Catra to take off her shirt so she can examine the injury. They share a moment of gay tension before Shadow Weaver enters and tells Adora to leave. Several nights later Catra awakes in the middle of the night and is kidnapped from her home by two men who take her to a reform school for troubled teens at Shadow Weaver's behest. There, Catra is told by her counselor that she was committed for allegedly sexually assualting her friend. Catra is awakened in the night by her bunkmate, Lonnie, who takes her to a gathering of students by a disused, dirty pool, where Catra is shoved in as part of a hazing ritual but nearly drowns because she cannot swim. She later participates in hazing a new student the same way. Back in her room immediately following the incident, Catra attempts to shower only to discover the water has been turned off outside of designated showering times, and she falls asleep on the shower floor and has a dream of drowning and being replaced by a version of her that her mother accepts and loves.
> 
> Next chapter is gonna be more conversion therapy, less physical trauma but much more severe emotional trauma, I'm afraid, but with the first seeds of hope sprinkled in. Stick with me, okay? We're gonna get through this together.

**Author's Note:**

> You can follow me on Twitter @sleepysaph where I mostly post medium takes and pictures of my cat


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